burnt toast life

guest blogger: my little sister (the 24-year-old, not the 8-year-old)

we got married a month apart the same year, so we had a joint bridal shower; this is a pic from that really awesome day

we got married a month apart the same year, so we had a joint bridal shower; this is a pic from that really awesome day

I had such fun being a guest blogger that I decided to invite some guests of my own to host right here (up next: Eric with The Penis Perspective. I swear to God that’s what he named his post). Maybe I was feeling a little lazy…guest bloggers mean you don’t have to think of posts. I was also feeling a bit narcissistic, I suppose. I figured they’d write about me, and I kind of wanted to hear what exactly they’d say. Today we have my little sister, Ashley. She’s fertile. Very, very fertile. She’s also one of my biggest advocates and supporters, the first one to commiserate over obnoxious ultrasound pics on Facebook. She may not understand what it’s like to be me, but she’s hella sympathetic. She’s already got one foot in the stirrup ready to be my surrogate the moment I say the word. She’s a good sister, the kind of sister you want on your side when you’re conceptionally challenged. She has a blog, Perfectly Imperfect, where she documents the challenges and joys of raising three little ones. Here’s her take on me and my drama.

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage. Isn’t that how we all assumed it would go? What happens when things happen out of order and are less than perfect? Or what happens when things aren’t happening? My sister and I join separate blog worlds, that’s what happens. I am new to blogging and I hardly think I am qualified to be a guest on my sister’s blog. I am very intimated by the whole thing and it’s not just because Amanda is a much better writer than I am (she is). I am intimidated because my struggles seem far less difficult than the audience I’m writing to.

I’m a mother of three and my audience is women who are or have had trouble having children. What could you possibly want to hear about from me? When I asked my sister this very question, she said, “Talk about what a bitch I am, talk about what it’s like to have a sister who can’t have kids or tell everyone having kids isn’t always roses and sunshine.”

I can’t talk about her being a bitch because despite occasional bitchy comments (we are all guilty of those), she isn’t a bitch. Obviously having kids isn’t always roses and sunshine, even women without kids know that. However, kids who drive you nuts and having a sister who can’t have kids (yet), share common ground. There are a lot of tears, there’s questioning and there is doubt. Her tears are over a child she doesn’t have, over the children she’s lost and over the unfairness of it all. My tears are over the children I do have. I have lost (I’ve had two miscarriages); the difference is that I already have kids. I understand that, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. No woman should ever have to experience a miscarriage. However, I believe it’s much more devastating for a childless woman to go through that. It’s unfair that a woman so capable of loving a child doesn’t have one. I occasionally feel it’s unfair that I have a child with a disability. My oldest child, Aiden, was recently diagnosed with autism. I shouldn’t feel unfairness for him or myself because if you’re going to have a disability, autism is the most manageable one. Does that sound bad? I am easily overwhelmed, so despite the fact that its manageable, we have a lot of hard days.

I often question why my sister is struggling. All of you have gotten to know her (you may even know her better than I do), so I’m sure you see how maternal she is. I have never stopped praying for her. She deserves a baby. I know God will give her a baby. I just wish I could tell her when and how. She’s my big sister and always seems to have answers for my questions. I’d love to be able to return the favor. When someone you love hurts, you want to take the pain away. How can I possibly take the pain of not having a child away? I’ll give her my kids! Yes! I know, that’s not what the infertile woman wants to hear from fertile myrtle. However, I suffered from postpartum depression after both of my daughters were born. There’s my sister praying, hoping and wishing for a baby. Then there I was, with my newborn feeling so disconnected and sad. In those first few months, I really didn’t want my girls. I would’ve gladly given my sister my baby.

There’s a lot of guilt that comes along with all of this. I pretty much feel guilty all the time. Not only did I at one time or another not want my kids, she has to deal with when I do want them. After every picture, status and post the next thought I have is, “I hope that doesn’t upset Amanda.” I bring my children around her, I talk about them and all I keep thinking is, Get the children away from her! Shut up, don’t talk about them. Your stories aren’t interesting anyway. I don’t know why I’m making her sound like a monster. She loves my kids and she’s OK with seeing and hearing about them (or so she says). I hope she isn’t lying about that because I know they love seeing her.

I haven’t answered any questions and I haven’t given any advice. I hardly think I’m in any sort of position to do so. I am 24 with no college degree, I’ve been working at the same place since I was 16 and I’m not the picture perfect mother I thought I’d be. Here is what I do know. God will never give us more than we can handle and we are living this life because we are strong enough to live it. My mother was the first person to tell me this. I use to think God entrusted me with a lot, and I thought I was strong. Now I know, my sister is the strongest and most trusting woman. The doubt rarely comes, and if it does it’s quickly pushed aside. She knows there is a plan for her (she just wants to know what it is). She will get her baby. She is a mother and always has been. Amanda is loved deeply and that’s where her strength comes from. She loves deeply and that’s where her courage comes from. All I can give are my prayers, and trust me, I’m always praying for the childless mother.

something exciting happened today

Upon returning from vacation, I can’t tell you how sad I was to receive a text from my sister in reference to the impending arrival of my niece saying, “I wanted her to come while you were away so I wouldn’t have to have the awkward phone call where I tell you I’m in labor. You don’t have to come…this is just to tell you I don’t want you to feel like you have to be there.”

Of course, I was much more content at the notion of witnessing her delivery when I was pregnant. Of course I was. But even after my loss, I did not for one second consider missing the birth of this baby. I watched my nephew being born. I watched my first niece being born. Despite everything, it remains the coolest, most awe-inspiring thing I’ve ever witnessed. And I can tell you that when you’re watching a new life enter this world, all the other shit falls away (for me, at least). My niece Addison was born in June of 2011, so we had already been diagnosed as infertile. It didn’t matter. The last thing I was thinking about during her delivery was myself. I know that’s hard to imagine, but it’s true. I knew this time, with everything that has happened, it would be exponentially harder. But I also knew that years from now, when I had kids of my own, I would regret missing it. So I went. And I knew that if tears were rolling down my face, they could be for the beauty of the moment, for the unfairness of the world, for my babies in heaven, for the hope I’m still feeling, or for all of the above. Yes… for all of the above. (And when I didn’t end up crying at all, that was OK, too).

When I got the text that she was experiencing contractions, I didn’t feel jealous or sad or angry. I felt excited. Even I was surprised by this. I don’t know why I fly into a jealous rage at sonogram pictures from distant acquaintances on Facebook, but I was not at all jealous of my sister who was literally about to give birth. It makes no sense. Maybe its because while I can imagine perfect lives for these random Facebook friends who I don’t really know, I don’t have such fantasies about my sister’s life. She is just 23 and has three children. Her son Aiden is (not yet officially diagnosed but most likely) on the autism spectrum. She has also suffered the pain of miscarriage. She struggles with the daily challenges that many of us women struggle with – money, self-esteem, emotional roller coasters. I’m jealous that she gets pregnant so easily, sure, but I’m not so jealous of her that I can’t tolerate being in her presence. I was truly, genuinely excited about her baby coming.

When I was 23, I was still making bad decisions on extended weekend beach trips with my best girlfriends. I was still having a blast. My sister has a great life; she has a loving husband and beautiful children. But for me… I’m grateful for every experience that I’ve had. Having babies is my number one goal in life and it always has been. But number one doesn’t mean it’s my only goal. There’s so much else that’s important to me. And deep down in my deepest of deep heart of hearts, I really think I’m going to have a baby one day. Somehow. I really and truly believe it. Maybe this whole experience proved that.

I think one of the biggest problems with Fertilebook, ahem, Facebook is that we only see that small sliver of what people want us to see. It’s easy to envision all these preggo biatches having picture-perfect lives even when we know they don’t. To date, there’s only one person on my Facebook friend list who seems to actually have the perfect life. I keep meaning to delete her but hey… I already said I’m a masochist.

Wow, I went off on a tangent there. Back to the matter at hand. Baby was coming. I was excited. But maybe I was also internalizing complex feelings. I was irrationally irritated at the fact that a cute baby in the nursery had a ridiculous, stupid name (which I hesitate to share in case it’s a name that one of you has picked out. But seriously, for the sake of your future children, I hope not). I kept drifting in and out of daydreaming, and yes, imagining how different it would be if I had still been pregnant. My sister’s best friend was there and we kept discussing her future labor and delivery (she’s engaged, not currently pregnant), but delicately avoided discussing it for me. Or maybe it wasn’t intentional and I’m just being overly sensitive. I know I acted like the whole thing didn’t phase me, and for the most part, it didn’t. But that baby with the stupid name. Yeah, that was frustrating. My baby would never have a stupid name.

My sister should be the poster child for childbirth, though if she was I think women would have unrealistic expectations. Sure, it took 2 days of contractions and she checked into the hospital ten hours before the baby was born. But she had an epidural, which slows things considerably. Once we got to “push time,” she literally pushed twice, smiled hugely in between, and casually brought up another unrelated topic ten minutes after Avery was born. It was like she just accomplished something on her to-do list and was on to the next thing. It’s her third, yes, but I still found it rather impressive.

I contemplated posting a photo, but ultimately decided against it. I know it’s hard for some of you to see. Know that my niece is a beautiful, healthy baby girl and I truly hope to give her an equally adorable cousin one day. One day soon. Please, let it be soon.