Baby Birthdays and Infertility Luncheons

Saturday was the first birthday party for our neighbor’s daughter. She actually turned one on St. Patty’s Day, but this weekend was when the whole family could be in town to celebrate. She was quite the star, trundling around in her little dress, and there was singing in French and English, and the obligatory smearing of cake all over her sweet little face (and dress) and she actually participated quite gleefully in the opening of her presents, eliciting millions of “awwwwws” and “how cute” and other typical things.

The party was great fun, and I got to see the son of another friend who has grown from an infant into a boy with a capital B. He was full of smiles, and also full of screams—a noise he’s just discovered he can make. It matched his red hair perfectly!

But another young couple were there with their toddler, and when I commented on how big he’d gotten, his mother gleefully pointed to her belly… and yes, number two was on the way.

I wasn’t prepared for it, and maybe she missed my stricken look, but it was the typical sucker punch. All the air went out of the room briefly, and I had to blink madly to fight back a huge wash of rage. I imagine it’s totally inappropriate when someone gives you this news to fall to the floor in a fit, nash your teeth and pull out your hair and scream over and over “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! Die, you easily pregnant bitch!” particularly when she said, “Oh, I was sick for a couple weeks and my mom said, maybe you’re pregnant? And I was!”

Somehow, I congratulated her, and walked away. Later she told me how it took them three years to conceive the son, and I felt a little better. I am such a bitch.

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The other thing that struck me during the party was all the family that was there--four generations of one side, three generations of the other. Gifts were given that had been handed down for years. On the mantle was a card given to the birthday girl’s mother on her first birthday.

This family has practically adopted my husband and me; we’ve been to Thanksgiving dinner at their house two years in a row, and they greet us with genuine pleasure every time they see us. So why does this make me feel oddly lonely?

My husband and I are both only children (technically, I have half-sisters and maybe a half-brother but we didn’t grow up together). My husband’s father died at 47, when my husband was only 17, and my father left when I was 15 months old. My mother is difficult, to say the least, and my husband’s mother has Alzheimer’s. My mother cut off contact with my uncles and cousins, and it’s been a fight for me to stay connected to them, and my husband has only an aunt and a cousin. All of our grandparents are dead.

My mother doesn’t have my first birthday cards, or clothes that I wore that she will give to my daughter, or anything like that. It’s not a criticism—we moved, a lot, often across the country, and holding on to stuff like that was hard. We were also very, very poor. My husband’s mother, on the other hand, doesn’t hold on to things like that simply because she isn’t remotely sentimental—a side effect, perhaps, of being a German immigrant who lost everything in WWII (although with any luck, she still has the lederhosen she made my poor husband wear as a toddler in Brooklyn).

At the birthday party, when it was time to light the candles, a grandmother thrust her camera at me and ordered me to take pictures while she gathered with the rest of the family around the cake. The other grandmother held up a half melted candle and told the rest of us that this candle came from France and has been used for every family birthday for over twenty years. I stood on the side, clicking away, grateful for a camera to cover my expression of lust and envy.

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Fortunately, I balanced this event with a completely different one on Sunday. I’ve been a member of the fertility boards for a couple of years, and while they can be a little silly, I have gotten a lot of support there, particularly on the threads dealing with IUI/IVF. Most of the women on those threads are a little less likely to discuss babydust and more likely to have had some real struggles.

A couple of months ago, a thread local to my area developed, and Sunday afternoon some of us got together for lunch. There were nine of us, one woman just pregnant with IVF twins. It was really fun, and so interesting to be in a group of people going through what we’re going through. We talked about how easy it is to feel alone in this struggle—and sitting across from them was quite empowering, and I left feeling both satisfied and hopeful.

There was a lot of laughter. The husbands, in particular, seemed relieved to discover that all the women had horrendous hormonal fits. We didn’t spend the whole time talking about infertility by any means, but the feeling of being in a raft from the Titanic was overwhelming. I really hope we do it again.

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I must be PMSing right now, cause the whole time I’ve been writing this I’ve been wanting to cry.

Can I just say how fucking sick and tired I am of crying? If I never shed another un-movie related tear (I weep like a child at sad movies—I’m totally gullible to fiction), I’ll be happy. I’m just fucking exhausted with sadness and anger.

Maybe I need to get another tattoo before I get pregnant. Yeah, that’ll cheer me up. Doesn't she look like me? Oh right...well, she does.

Comments

[Julia]

You, too? I cried all day yesterday and only a teeny bit of it felt logically connected to some actual emotion.

Your newly formed local support group sounds fantastic. I knew there were less cheezy boards out there somewhere...

[getupgrrl]

I *hate* that feeling of being blindsided. It knocks the wind right out of me.

Here's to those moments getting easier with time.

[Monica]

So glad to know that baby dust shit isn't everywhere. Sounds like you met with a great group of women. I thought that I had forgotten how to laugh until I found so many of the great infertility blogs -- can't imagine what it would be like to actually sit next to some of the women!