I have always been a little skeptical of mom blogs, mom bloggers and why they do what they do. I thought someone had to be slightly insane to think that the internet needed a blow by blow of their daily activities. Yet here I am starting a blog and aware that I’m probably slightly insane. I have come to realize that there is a contingent of mom bloggers who simply have thoughts, ideas, or experiences that they want to put on paper (or a computer screen, as the case may be) in order to be relevant and possibly connect with or relate to others.
In my opinion, a full time mom is one of the most difficult jobs in the world. To be more accurate, one of the most difficult jobs in the world to do well. I have been a stay at home mom for 17 years, and I can tell you honestly that there were times I was very jealous of the escape that a job outside the home could provide. I was lonely when I had a colicky infant who refused to stop screaming unless she was latched on to me. My home was my prison, and the TV was my closest friend. I could tell you any newsworthy tidbit reported by major news networks for months on end. I truly thought my life was over, sadly. And even when he got home, my husband could not feed our daughter because she wouldn’t take a bottle for 4 months!
Motherhood was not at all what I had dreamed it would be during those early months. My husband and I had married with the mutual decision to hold off having children for 5 years due to his career in the Air Force and moving around often, sometimes overseas, away from the support of family. Five years turned into six and we decided it was time to try. Now I’m a planner, a big planner. I planned that if we tried in month X, I would become pregnant and deliver in month Y. I never dreamed that months would turn into years, but that’s usually how infertility happens. It’s nothing anyone plans on, yet the numbers of infertile couples continue to rise around the modern world. My heart broke a little more every month it didn’t happen. One of the largest hurts came on Mother’s Day in 1998. That very morning, I had received certain confirmation that yet again, I was not pregnant. We attended a Sunday school class at our church where, unbeknownst to me, some dads had decided it would be nice to honor the moms in class. So at the end of class they turned out the lights and started a projection of pics of the various moms and their children. My sweet husband tried to soften the blow by giving them a pic of me with our two dogs. Though that was 18 years ago, my heart still hurts at the memory.
Two jobs and a move across the country later, we finally gave in and went to see a Reproductive Endocrinologist. He ran tests on me, which is the normal starting point, and really couldn’t find anything glaring, so he started me on the first line of ovulation induction meds of the day, Clomid. If I remember correctly, you only took it for a few days during the month, and I can remember taking my first pill thinking that it was some sort of magic potion. In this instance, I was very fortunate as I became pregnant after one month of taking it. But then the terror set in. If you’ve ever experienced infertility, you know that getting pregnant is not the end game. For many, getting pregnant is not the problem, staying pregnant is a much larger obstacle. I didn’t know what my body would do. At this point I didn’t trust it to behave as it should, so I lived in fear of losing what I had so longed and fought for. After several months of routine follow-ups, I was released into the realm of normal pregnant women, and I think I relaxed and started to enjoy my pregnancy.
to be continued…