Hey Jealousy

Six months have come and gone, and not even a nibble. I’ve done charting, and strips, and male fertility tests; everything except de-stressing. What comes next? I think the magic number for me to be able to have fertility testing is a year. As if I can wait that long! Every article I read says the same thing, that women in their mid-40’s regret not starting on fertility drugs in their mid-30’s when their odds were better. Not great, but better. No one can say what the right thing to do is, and no one can know. Maybe it’s really going to be a little Vietnamese girl for me. Either that, or some sort of DeLorean time machine.

In just-slightly-less-depressing baby news I finally got to meet my niece, Ms. Amelia Jane. She is exactly as precious as someone who looks slightly like me could be. She has no less than a million different facial expressions, and did not like it at all when I got out of the shower, unrecognizable with wet hair, and growled at her. It had been a while, for me, since I’d rocked a baby to sleep in my arms, and apparently it’s not something you forget how to do. Or forget to love.

My sister is a typical new mom, anxious and doting and totally flipping clueless to the pain of the people around her. My dad had mentioned on phone calls that she was a little one-track-minded, but he neglected to add that every single conversation had to be about the baby, or else she would creatively find some way to steer it back in that direction. Actually, he DID say this, but I thought it was just dad being crazy, because if a conversation veers away from beer or televised sporting events he tends to lose interest. I was ok for the first three days of BabyFest 07, and then totally cracked. I even know the moment it happened. I had invited my best friend from college over, a mother of two. I was looking forward to catching up with her and seeing the kids, but sis latched onto her the moment she walked in the door. Instead of helping out so that I could visit, she launched into the litany of breast-feeding woes I’d been hearing since I got off the plane and totally took over the visit.

To be fair, I had told her upfront that I didn’t mind talking about this stuff. And at first, I didn’t, until I realized that it was all going to be one-sided conversations because she really didn’t want anyone’s feedback or suggestions or advice, she just needed to talk. I was happy to do that for a while, but as it went on and on it just became more and more obvious that this was the same ol’ dynamic, only this time it was a topic that hurt me in sneaky little paper-cutty ways. After a while I gave up trying to talk about other things or participate, because I was constantly cut off or interrupted. We all know how I like to tell my stories, so it was very humbling to be the one whose voice was secondary. Surprisingly, I didn't like it one bit.

During my friend’s visit I went and stood in the kitchen and cried while my dad mumbled apologies and patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. It made me feel a little better, because if it was something that even he had picked up on, then maybe I wasn’t totally overly sensitive. Ok, I do recognize that I am overly sensitive, and that’s part of it. But my vacation was all about my sister, and secondarily the baby; when they were eating, who was feeding them or making them snacks or getting them beverages, or doing these things at the wrong time or in the wrong way and pissing them off. Again, I understand, new mom, I’m touchy on the subject, let’s just forget it and move on until the next holiday. On a positive note, I got a lot of reading done, which was nice. I’d go hide in the scary basement where I was sleeping and read til like 3 am.

So I was glad I had planned for two extra days off when I came home, although I ended up being guilt-ridden about packing since we’d received an offer on the house while I was out of country. Now don’t get all excited – in the continuing saga of Very Much Unlucky Pretty House the offer fell through, and on Friday the 13th no less. We have dropped the price again, re-listed, and have had exactly one showing who didn’t like the unique floor plan. I am more desperate than ever because I have found Very Much Unlucky Pretty House Bad Decision #2, a gorgeous in-the-middle-of-nowhere overpriced house that I want to buy right this second despite the fact I haven’t even been inside it and can't affort it and did I mention it's in the middle of nowhere? I’m such a sucker for falling in love, be it boys or buildings.

I started the seventh month of attempts last night, and despite my forced calm breathing and contrived relaxation techniques I am not feeling hopeful. More positive thinking, stat! Also, there was a slightly alarming difference in how things went down that I’m not quite ready to blog about until I compulsively read everything I can find on the interweb. Suffice it to say, I thought I might have poked the pipette through something important and was going to die in my sleep. Man, this thing is so complicated!