Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Let’s Talk About Sex

A new reader, let’s call her Kerry, contacted me recently and had this to say:

“I’m in the coming-to-terms stage. Being 35 and on the crazy train for 5 years is enough for my husband and me.  I would like to hear from others about how to deal with (sigh…) loss of libido.  I assume I’m not the only one?  But I don’t know what to do about it, other than see a therapist, and I don’t really know how that will help anyway.  I used to have a sex drive like a MAN and TTC seems to have killed it almost completely.  This causes me much sadness, embarrassment and anger, and I have no idea how to fix my body’s refusal to enjoy sex!  I want to get back to enjoying my life, and this is a huge barrier.”

Let’s face it: having sex on-demand is like being force-fed chocolate. It sounds like a lot of fun at first, but it doesn’t take long for the novelty to wear off.

If you’ve been on the TTC (trying to conceive) merry-go-round, you know all about charting fertility and the mad scramble for the bedroom when that little line on the ovulation test stick shows up. After just a couple of months of failed attempts, it’s difficult to muster the enthusiasm to keep trying, especially as the success of the mission depends so much on both people being “in the mood” and even “in the moment.” Add to that the fact that the most intimate parts of your anatomy have been paraded before countless doctors, and the whole think quickly loses its allure.

From my own experience, I remember how sex became a frustrating chore and how quickly it stopped being about fun or even love. I also found that, once sex was associated with trying to conceive and all the emotional baggage that comes along with it, it was hard to separate the two again. But it’s possible.

I am no expert on the psychology of sex and libido, but I can speak from my own experience, so I will.

It does come back. It takes time and it’s part of the healing process. Once my husband and I got some distance from our experience and were truly on the road to moving on, we were able to focus on one another again, and the love that brought us together in the first place was still there. In fact, I think that the experience we went through together has brought us closer in many ways. We talked about it a lot (a LOT!!) and both agreed that, as awful as the infertility experience was, we were glad we went through it with each other, and not with someone else. In many ways, it has brought us closer and it helps to remember that.

As for getting the old libido back on track, pick up almost any women’s magazine and it will have an article on rekindling the passion – warm bath, candles, lingerie, toys. I think the trick is finding the thing that works for you. Warm baths and candles, for instance, are a sure way to put me to sleep. Here’s what does work for me. [Note to my husband: you should have stopped reading this post about five paragraphs ago. Sorry.] Commit to a minute. Just one minute. Even if you’re not in the mood, you can do anything for a minute. Agree that if it’s going nowhere after a minute, you’ll stop. Odds are, once you’re actually in the throes of intimacy, the rest will follow.

Ladies, what has been your experience in this department? Do you have any advice for Kerry? Please share it.

Healing Through Creativity

Just a quick reminder for anyone considering attending the Healing Through Creativity workshop next month. We have five spots still to be filled and the Early Bird Special price is good through May 31.

If you are thinking of attending but can’t yet make a commitment, please drop me a note through the Suggest a Topic link, just so I know you’re interested.

This first workshop is “Finding Your Identity After Infertility.” All the details can be found here.

More workshops are planned for later in the year, so stay tuned.

Infertility, Men, and Communication

Kathleen sent this article to me this week. It’s a kind of “Top tips” for men going through infertility. I really appreciated the writer’s ability to find humor in this topic, and I admire that he was able to step back from his own experience (he and his wife now have three children) and offer some advice to other men who find themselves in this situation.

As we’ve discussed before, there seem to be so few resources aimed at men. While it’s often we women who go through the worst of the testing and unpleasant procedures, it’s easy to forget that the men involved are working through their own confusion, conflicting emotions, and sadness.

Here’s a man who tried to do the right thing. He gave his wife flowers after every failed procedure. What a nice guy! Except that, from his wife’s point-of-view, the flowers were just a reminder of the failure she felt.

His discussion about the importance of communication is dead on, and I think that it remains true even if you’ve decided to stop treatments, or if you’ve otherwise decided that children are not in your future. We humans can be fickle creatures and our big life decisions are seldom clear-cut. We waver, we reconsider, and we’re affected by events in our environment. Talking about this is critical.

I know I’m often guilty of keeping my thoughts to myself so as not to upset my husband (although he does read this blog from time-to-time, so it’s hard to have too many secrets!) But experience has shown me that being honest about what’s going on means fewer surprises for him and fewer, “I had no idea…” conversations.

I Failed My Own Test

Do you ever test yourself to see just how well you’re really doing with this whole “coming-to-terms” business? I’ve been doing it a lot lately. I’ve been inserting myself into mothering conversations, just to gauge how it makes me feel. I’ve started smiling at other people’s babies again, to see if it stirs up any dormant emotions. The other week, as I was driving past Babies R Us, I seriously considered pulling in and just walking around the store to see if I could do it. I realized it was a crazy idea, and I went home instead, but I’m pretty sure I would have been okay. Based on all these tests, in fact, I’d say I’m doing pretty well at re-entering the real world, where mothers and babies exist.

So, when I found myself in a conversation with a pregnant woman last week, it really was no big deal. I was genuinely happy for her and chatted about names and the baby’s sex, and how she was doing. No big deal. When she pulled a strange face I asked her if she was okay.

“Oh yes,” she said. “He’s just moving around. ”

I laughed and asked her what it was like.

“Here,” she said. “Do you want to feel him?”

Before I knew it I had my hands on her belly and I was looking at her wide-eyed as I felt her baby’s little backside sticking up in the air and a tiny pointy elbow poking out to one side.

“That’s amazing,” I told her. And it was.

As I drove home later that night, that baby was all I could think about. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a tidal wave of emotions barreling towards me and there was nothing I could do to get out of the way.

I could picture her little guy clearly and I imagined what it must be like to have another human being grow and move inside me. I could feel it. And then the what-ifs started. What if we tried IVF and it worked? What if we found an egg donor; wouldn’t it be worth it to go through that? And even as the logical side of my brain was listing all the good reasons to not even entertain these thoughts, the other side was cooking up a plan to offer myself up as a surrogate for another woman, just so I could experience what it would be like to be pregnant.

I’m not going to tell you that these were fleeting thoughts, nor am I going tell you how I laughed at my craziness and put these silly thoughts behind me; neither of those is true. But I am going to tell you that I know that this won’t be the last time this happens to me. My infertility is up there at the top of the “life-changing events” list in my life. And like the other experiences, it’s always going to be with me. Most of the time it will just hang out in the back of my mind and not give me too much trouble, but every now and then, something is going to trigger my memories and all those emotions will come rushing back. I think that’s just a part of being human.

My “Expressing Motherhood” Performance

For the past two weeks I’ve been performing in a show called Expressing Motherhood. In case you’re new to this blog, you can follow along with the story of how this came about in these posts:

Expressing Motherhood

Expressing Motherhood Report

Expressing Motherhood: Part III

Telling My Story

The show closed on Saturday night and I have to tell you that it was quite an experience. I performed alongside 12 mothers and one brave man, who offered stories – and songs – about motherhood in all its forms. And then there was me, telling my story about my relationship with motherhood.

The cast was really wonderful and so supportive of what I was aiming to do. They each said something encouraging, and several even commented that my story had given them a better understanding about infertility and the ongoing emotions involved. For that alone, it was worth it.

My story was second-to-last in the line-up, and I think it had the most impact there, after all the stories from the mothers (the lone man closed the show with a story about his own mother, which was perfect.) I got several kind compliments from audience members after the show, and although it’s hard to tell from the stage, I think that my story went down well.

After the show closed, I went through a few days of questioning my decision to get up there and put it all out for the world to see. Some of those feelings prompted yesterday’s “I don’t want to talk about this anymore” post, but overall, I’m pleased that the producers chose to include my story as another (often overlooked) facet of motherhood, and I’m pleased with the response it got.

So, for those of you who expressed an interest in seeing the show, here is my performance in Expressing Motherhood.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXiCnuDEzw4&w=560&h=349]

Whiny Wednesday: I don’t want to talk about this anymore

Let me just say, right up front, that I love the community of women I’ve found through this blog. I’ve really been amazed at how people are willing to rally around and help others they’ve never even met. I attribute the speed of my healing progress to this community and to having somewhere to go to talk about infertility and childlessness.

But sometimes I feel as if I just don’t want to talk about it anymore.

For the past two weeks I’ve stood up in front of a theater full of strangers and told my story. It was a fantastic experience and everyone I met was wonderful and supportive. (More about this very soon.) I know that talking about this issue is bringing it to the forefront and building understanding. People have come up to me and told me as much.

But sometimes I just want to be little old me. I don’t want to keep talking about “it.”

Recently, this article reminded me of why I don’t want to talk about “it.” Here, this writer pours out her heart and her “regrets” at never having children.

“I know, for example, that not being a mother means there is a part of me which remains unused, a love that will be forever unexpressed. I know that what any mother describes as the most profound love she has ever known is, to me, a locked door — there is so much love I will never be able to give, wisdom and understanding I cannot share, shelter and solace I cannot provide.”

I admire for having the guts to say that, and I know she’s right, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise. There are a million ways to substitute for not having children, but none of them are really going to fill that gap. I know that; I feel that.

But, then she goes on to say:

“My regrets will always linger. My life is a poorer place for not having children, and I am less of a woman for not being a mother.”

And that’s when I want to yell, “No!! Pull yourself together, woman! You have a successful career, friends, a great life. How can you say your life is a poorer place and that you are less of a woman because you don’t have children?” Forgive me, friends, but it just comes across as feeling sorry for herself, and that doesn’t sit well with me.

And this is why I don’t want to talk about this sometimes. I don’t want to be defined by my childlessness; I don’t want to be a one-ring circus with the same act playing night after night; I don’t want to be “that poor pathetic childless woman, who never quite got over it.”

All that being said, I’m going to keep talking about it, because it’s an important topic to me, but I’m keeping an eye on myself to make sure it doesn’t become the only thing I can talk about, to make sure I don’t start feeling sorry for myself.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No! It’s Super-Lisa!

It’s something I’ve always dreamed of having – a superpower! I always thought how fun it would be to be invisible or to fly like Superman. But my personal favorite superpower would be to teleport (or apparate and disapparate if you’re a Harry Potter fan) – to disappear from one place and reappear somewhere else. Very useful skill.

I don’t have any of those skills, but it turns out that I do have a superpower! I have a magic force field and I discovered it a couple of weeks ago.

Stepping out of a cab in New Orleans, the doorman at our hotel greeted us with a jovial, “Welcome to the Big Easy. Where are the kids? Did you leave them home alone?” For a moment I was caught completely off-guard. I struggled between trying to come up with a witty response and fighting the urge to give the man a piece of my mind. And then Zup! Up popped my force field! I could feel it shimmering all around me, protecting me from this man’s unintentional sting. And from inside my invisible shield, I smiled and let him figure out for himself that I had no kids to leave home alone.

Then last week I went to the dentist to get a chipped tooth fixed. Because it was also the opening night of my show I told the dentist that I couldn’t have any Novocain. (Didn’t want my mouth numb on stage!) She immediately jumped to the conclusion that I was pregnant and even after I explained that I wasn’t, she continued to prattle on about babies and pregnancy and blah-blah-blah. In the chair I closed my eyes and Zup! Up went my force field again. I could hear all her baby talk dinging off my protective shell, but inside I was safe and sound.

Once upon a time I’d have been upset by either of these scenarios and more recently I would have been mad and felt the need to set these people straight, but now I just Zup! put up my force field and let it all bounce off. I know these people aren’t trying to hurt my feelings, and there’s no need for me to set them straight. They don’t need to know my story and I don’t need to try and fix them.

You can call it cowardice if you like, or denial, but I call it self-preservation. It’s peaceful inside my force field, and after the emotional drama of the past seven years, I feel I’ve earned the right to a little peace.

Book Review: The Inadequate Conception

I just finished reading Lori Green LeRoy’s The Inadequate Conception: From Barry White to Blastocytes: What your mom didn’t tell you about getting pregnant. This is one of those books I wish I’d read before I started trying to conceive.

Lori’s story is, frankly, mind-blowing. She says on the cover of the book:

“I am the no prego pro, the infertility warrior, bunless oven, can’t-make-a-baby veteran. It has taken six years and tens of thousands of dollars to achieve this distinction, and more specifically, 1,611 prenatal vitamins, 78 fertility drug injections, 55 ovulation detection tests, 40 blood draws, 33 ultrasounds, 16 pregnancy tests, and 11 embryos to confirm it.”

And yet, stunningly, Lori manages to find humor in all of this, something I stopped doing within the first couple of years of my journey. And even though she ultimately gave up trying to conceive, she was able to gather funny stories from her own experience and that of others, and find a lighthearted way to share them in her book.

I really applaud Lori, for her courage. It’s not easy to find the funny side of infertility, even when so much of what we put ourselves through is utterly ridiculous. And yet, having been on this journey myself, I couldn’t help but read between the lines and see the hurt behind Lori’s laughter. Had I read the book without my own experience. I would have appreciated her attitude and her determination to maintain her sense of humor – something that would have been very valuable to me.

I know from Lori, that since stopping her fertility treatments, she and her husband have embarked on a journey to adopt a little boy. She says:

“The adoption finalization has gone about as well as our trials in fertility, which is to say, that it hasn’t progressed much…”

I wish Lori the very best of good fortune and trust that her wicked sense of humor continues to serve her well.

Breaking Up With Mother’s Day

My friend is getting married this year and received some good advice from an aunt, who explained that marriage isn’t all about romance and that sometimes you’re not going to like the person you marry. Sometimes you’ll be angry, upset, frustrated, and hurt. She told my friend, “It’s okay to be angry, in fact it’s good. It’s when you stop feeling angry and feel nothing that you know there’s a problem.”

I think this is very sage advice and I know from my own experience of past relationships that when I stopped being upset about things that should have made me angry, that relationship was pretty much doomed. Apathy is deadly.

I bring this is up because of the way I’m feeling about Mother’s Day this year. In the past, I’ve run the gamut of emotions when this day has ticked around. I’ve been sad about my own loss, frustrated at my situation, angry about having motherhood pushed in my face, and hurt that other people don’t realize how much that day affects me. I’ve stayed indoors on past Mother’s Days; I’ve avoided restaurants that are celebrating mothers, and I’ve even avoided public places, where some unsuspecting nicey-nice person might wish me a happy Mother’s Day, oblivious to how much it stings.

But this year, I feel differently. This year I don’t care. I’m not feeling dread at the approaching day; I’m not putting on my emotional armor ready to deflect the hurt, and I’m not making plans to hide away. I don’t feel especially determined to not let this day affect me, and I’m not taking a stand and trying to prove I’m strong. I just don’t feel anything.

I think this means that Mother’s Day and I are about to break up. And how freeing that would be to get up on Sunday morning and just go about my day. As you may recall from a previous post. my own mother is in a county that celebrates Mother’s Day in March, and my husband’s mother is no longer with us, so we are under no obligation to celebrate at all. It’s truly liberating.

I’m writing this post almost a week before the Big Day, so I will be keeping a watchful eye of my vitals and checking how I feel as the week goes on. But maybe this is the year that will mark the closing of a chapter for me, which of course, is always followed by the start of a new one. Watch this space!

Infertility Myth: Women without children are never complete

Remember this children’s ditty? I’m using myself and my husband as the example.

Jose and Lisa sitting in a tree,

K.I.S.S.I.N.G.

First comes love,

Then comes marriage,

Then comes a baby in a baby carriage.

As a little girl, this was the expectation for how my life would unfold. Find a nice man, get married, and have a family, just as my parents did, and their parents before them. Sure, I came of age in the 80s, so there was college, a career, travel, and other big dreams thrown in there, but marriage and children were always a part of the picture.

I was 34 years old when I finally married Mr. Fabulous. Four years later, a doctor told me I’d never have biological children of my own. Those first years of our married lives were a crazy rollercoaster of desire and desperation, filled with doctor’s appointments and a desperate drive to complete my image of the perfect family. Even after this hopeless diagnosis, I kept pursuing that dream, convinced that the next doctor would have the secret elixir or that adoption would be my quick-fix solution.

I think I could have continued to look for a solution forever – there was always something else to try – but I realized something from that children’s ditty. After all that kissing in trees, there are three things that are supposed to follow – love, marriage, and children. In my pursuit of the baby in the baby carriage, I was frittering away two: the love and the marriage. I already had a wonderful life, doing work that I loved, in a city that I loved, with someone I loved. If I never had children, I’d still have that wonderful life.

We live in a culture of high expectations, where, as women, we expect to be able to have it all. But anyone who’s lived for any length of time knows that you don’t always get what you want.  I wanted motherhood, but it wasn’t meant to be, so I was left with two options: spend the rest of my life mourning what I’d lost and living with the hope that maybe a miracle would happen, or start figuring out how to build a life without children.

I chose the latter.

It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but now, two years later, I’m free to fully enjoy that fabulous marriage with that fabulous husband. Motherhood is only one small part of the life I imagined for myself and I am so much more than just an infertile woman. I discovered that there is life after infertility and that a life without children can still be a wonderful life.

For more information about infertility, please visit: http://www.resolve.org/infertility101

This post was written RESOLVE’S Bust a Myth Challenge. To learn more about National Infertility Awareness Week® (NIAW) go to: http://www.resolve.org/takecharge.