Everydaystranger

06 October 2007
The End of the Beginning
I started this blog as a way of trying to write about something that had become a part of me, namely my desire to be a mother. I needed a quiet place in blogland to do this, somewhere I could be anonymous, somewhere that certain people from my other site could never find (cough*family*cough). I had to have a place where I could write it all out, detail the E2 levels and document the number of embryos, all while getting the flotsam and jetsam out of my mind, as well as my ovaries. This site was designed to let me hide and work things out, and that failed some time ago when my family mysteriously discovered my site anyway (funny that. Also? Pisses me off.)
I thought about this space during some of my quiet time this week with Nick and Nora. The twins are, in my mind – to steal a famous line – practically perfect in every way. I know every mother says that, I’m next in the line. I just can’t believe they’re here, that they’re real.
I started IVF nearly 6 years ago. After a number of cycles, I have a set of twins that I love with a fierceness that surprises even me. I wish more than I can say that the other women who got eggs of mine could have gotten pregnant. I am floored that “two average quality embryos” from the worst cycle I’d ever had could produce two little wonders like these two. It’s all so impossible, yet here I am, looking at two silent sleeping forms.
We’re just now home from the hospital. When I started typing this up in the fits and bursts of time I’ve had since they were born, I realized where I was in my life – at the moment I started writing this I hadn’t bathed yet for the day. A bad night with Nick meant that half of me was covered with baby vomit. Two stains showed where some milk leakage had occurred. I had blood encrusted on the bottom of my gown. I was wearing net knickers with a pad that Nora would envy to catch the lochia, something they don’t really tell you much about before you have a C-section. My fingers smelled like yogurt, which I ate as rapidly as I could that morning.
And I’d never been happier in my whole, entire life.
I am now showered and changed (thank god!) and the babies are snoozing in the bassinette next to me. They sleep better together. They sleep better swaddled. They both take immediate comfort from the sound of mine and Aidan’s voices.
But even more so, somehow it feels like a chapter has ended. I fought and cried and battled and died, and I have two milk drunk muffins beside me who give me a greater sense of peace than a thousand hours of therapy (although the therapy is definitely a part of what makes me balanced enough to have them here, that’s for sure). My pregnancy was the worst experience of my life. Arguments, worry, bleeding, fear, hospital stays, needles, blood pressure, kidneys, bladder, more bleeding, breathing, emergency C-sections, the sight of my boy in special care…it was a living hell. And if I only ever got one moment with these two babies in return for 36 weeks of hell, then it would still be worth every single second. The babies have become something that both Aidan and I can’t wait to be around, can’t wait to interact with. We both light up at the sight of them. We have both fallen in love, and in return, something between us seems to be even brighter than it had been before. I thought I loved him as much as I could possibly love another person before they were born. I was wrong. I’m even more in love with him now, too.
I cannot have children on my own, but my own personal battle with infertility is over. No matter what happens in this crazy thing called the future, we are not going through IVF again. This is absolutely not a judgment on women with secondary infertility, in fact I have a greater, deeper respect and support for women that are battling secondary infertility, it’s just for us I know without question that Aidan and I will not be having any more children. Nick and Nora round out the family in the most unexpected way and I will get down on my knees and thank whatever god lines up for thankage, but this is where my infertility and I part ways.
So I started this blog to try to get to a finish line, and now I’m there. I’m not turning my back on the infertile world, and I’m not walking away now that I’ve got what I want. As a mere function of time, though, I’m going to stop writing here and will write only on my main site from now on.
If you’ve been with me on what I unashamedly and sappily think of as the most amazing journey I’ve ever been on, then thank you. If you want to keep walking with me, I’ll be updating on my other site as the babies and I grow up together. Come on over.
If you’re still on the path that infertility has put you on, then I love you. I’m so sorry. If you want to email me and vent or come to my other site and comment then I would love to have you. If you can’t, if it hurts, if it’s too painful, then believe me – I understand. And I wish for you so much.
For all of you, those who have faced down the Needle Brigade with me, those who cheered and emailed and wrote and commented and hoped and prayed and laughed and yelled, then thank you. Thank you and I love you and I will never, ever forget a moment of who I am and what I went through.
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04 October 2007
Touchdown
The Lemonheads-called Nick and Nora in blogland-were born via emergency C-section at 1600 on October 3. Everyone is fine, if a little tired, and Nick remains in special care.
Details to follow, pictures can be found here.