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Happy New Year!
1.We promise to never use the words “path”, “journey”, “for the best”, “it’s God’s plan” or “meant to be”.
2. We promise to approach difficult moments with curiosity and compassion. When not so pretty thoughts or feelings come up, rather than beating ourselves up we’ll think, ‘I’m feeling this, what is that about?’ and whatever the answer know that we’re doing the best we can.
3. We promise to view life as an evolving adventure, whether we become mothers or not, we’ll always make time to explore the giant playground that we live in.
4. We promise not to roll our eyes when friends tell us they are pregnant on the first try. As easy as it seems, we wouldn’t trade the perspectives we now have for anything. Even an easy pregnancy.
5. We promise to go ziplining – literally and metaphorically – to look at the world around us with awe and wonder.
6. We promise to trust that our decisions are the best decisions for us and our families. Though other people may not understand, or approve, we promise to remember this is our life, not theirs.
7. We promise, even in the face of waiting and waiting, or changing diapers at 3am and cleaning grape jelly off the couch, to never forget the lessons infertility taught us – to roll with the punches and take life as it comes.
8. We promise to connect more with other women who can’t have kids the easy way. There is no reason for any of us to feel alone in our struggles.
9. We promise to karaoke the blues away. There’s nothing like belting out Pat Benetar in front of a roomful of strangers to salve a failed cycle or adoption that fell through.
10. We promise to celebrate every little victory – good test results or completing a step in the adoption process – to take a pit stop once and a while and treat ourselves to fun day trips or Reeses Peanut Butter Cup sundaes for no reason.
Happy Holidays from the V List!
We carefully sit on Santa’s lap, trying not to put too much weight on his legs. The bell on Stephanie’s embroidered “Jingle” shirt rings. The rhinestones on my snowwoman shirt glisten underneath the mall’s florescent lights. We giggle but Santa thinks nothing of our tacky shirts and 30-something selves sitting on his lap. What do you want for Christmas?” he asks.
“A healthy baby.” I tell him.
“Sounds like a nice present. And what about you?” he looks at Stephanie.
“A healthy baby.”
“Are you also expecting?” He asks.
“No, we’re adopting.”
“That is wonderful, it is something… I hold… very, very close to my heart.”
Santa gets it. His beard is real, his eyes are sparkly blue, and his breath smells like snow so I feel pretty confident that our wishes may actually make it to the person in charge.
We believe that the best gifts don’t come under the Christmas tree so, in that spirit, please enjoy this playlist we made featuring little ditties that we feel represent infertility and the V List in one way or another. Pull up your hookah, tissue box, 80s leg warmers, skydiving parachute and karaoke machine. Click on the “Pop-Out Player” button below… enjoy… and may all your wishes come true.
We decide to go to the new IKEA in Tampa. In a big yellow Penske truck. While Stephanie practices her sense of entitlement driving this monstrocity in traffic, I enjoy the scenery of anti-choice, mature manure, and gun billboards.
Clearly we are serious shoppers. So, naturally, the first thing we do when we arrive is eat. “Where is the cafeteria?” Steph asks the greeter. “Um, right behind you.”
After we purchase a few chairs, a sofa, and closet system, we arrive at the baby section. Neither of us has ever been there. We usually skip over it with a sneer and a tear but today we take a deep breath and cross under the vibrant arch. You would think that we would be like two kids in a candy store, given how deeply we both want children, but we are more like two city girls on a trip to the country milking their first cow. Between our “what does this do?” and “what do you think this is?” we attempt to figure things out. After she practices lovingly placing her child (purse) in and out of each crib, Steph decides on an adorable little number. A few months ago we were sucking on Bud Lights and falling off mechanical bulls and now look at us – a couple of infertiles shopping in the IKEA baby section. Life is grand.
I wish entitlement while driving a big yellow truck translated into entitlement in the nursery. With all we have been through, we continue to coach each other on building confidence and trust that our bundle of joy will come. When the worst has happened to you it is no longer something that happens to other people. We don’t have the luxury of living with our heads in the clouds. We’ve experienced too much for that to even be an option. Even though the kid thing has been working out for both of us so far, there is a quiet fear that it will all go away. But we work on it one tire tread at a time, we deal with the bumps on the road, we merge with limited vision, hoping that everyone else will just clear the way.
Shellfish & a nice Chianti… need I say more?
Here is the recipe. I used turkey sausage instead of pork and clams instead of mussels.
Happy eating!
I am sore. My neck, thighs and back are rigidly trying to pretend I have full range of motion. I have always been wildly attracted to scars and battle wounds. I think they add character, layers to a person. This stiff neck is my souvenir. I didn’t get it from sleeping wrong, no siree. I got it from riding a mechanical bull in the middle of Nowhere, Florida.
The night was adventure after adventure… We line danced, serenaded the cowfolk with some classic Love is Battlefield in the karaoke room, and were told we had the pimpinest hats in the joint by a seven foot tall cowboy who had a voice that could sing Ol’ Man River in a heartbeat. When we arrived at the bullpen, riders were effortlessly doing their thing. I wanted to go fast, to surpass the 8 seconds, to fly off the bull with such force that my hat would follow my body. Instead, the operator had me bucking at the slowest possible speed. It felt like slow motion. I gripped onto the bull with all the might my hands and thighs could muster and, within five seconds, slid off the side. There was no dramatic dismount. I gave it my all but my body was not in sync with gravity. But back in the saddle I went. Each V-List adventure can’t help but become a metaphor for life, for the journey of nontraditional paths to parenthood. Face down in uncertainty, or the dirty floor of the bullpen, we get up. We get back on. We move in slow motion even though we want to go much faster. But just as I can appreciate scars and stiff muscles, I have grown to value taking it slow. There is freedom in letting go of what I feel should happen and allowing all expectations slide off the side of a bull.
I can’t think of a better way to kick off National Infertility Awareness Week than jumping out of a plane. Skydiving has an exhilarating affect, one that saturates every cell in the body with 100% pure joy. For all the moments in the Assisted Reproduction experience where I felt the situation is unfair, or I was hurt by someone saying insensitive, stinging words, or gossiping about what we may or may not be up to, flying through the sky has a magical way of erasing all of that.
I had many memorable moments at 13,000, 11,000, 9,000 feet – a sentimental one when Steph and I toasted a Bud Light, one of awe of seeing the Atlantic Ocean and patterned farmland in the same field of sight, another where I felt the sky as a comfortable blanket rather than a distant, mysterious space that contains only clouds, birds and airplanes. The feeling that resonated the most, one that I take with me to my steps on the ground, is the feeling of personal power. Anyone who has experienced infertility, or utilized technology to procreate understands the many layers of hardship it entails. We hand over our bodies to modern science, and mother nature, at great cost. There are no fair choices or solid explanations and powerlessness prevails. But we really are very powerful, we just don’t know it until we jump out of a plane sometimes.
Not having babies the way everyone else does has taught me not to wait around for life to happen, but to live each moment to the fullest. That is powerful. In the past few months I have soared deep and high and, regardless of the outcome, I know where my heart lies. High in the sky.
Some adVenturs must be done alone… like defrosting some snow babies for a second round of IVF. Fran missed Peggy and her sushi eating, skydiving ways, but had a nice short visit to Chicago. She went shopping on the Magnificent Mile, met a friend for dinner and had the most delicious calamari of her life, saw Second City for the second time, and watched five hours of Golden Girls. Could life get any better? Yes, yes it could. A positive pregnancy test would be the whipped cream and cherry of the weekend (as opposed to the bread and butter).
Not many people can say they had such a fun-filled weekend when they conceived. The most exciting story I ever heard is a friend who conceived after an Eagles victory. If one of the two embryos implant they will have a story, alright. One like no other and yet like thousands of others…
We got to scratch two things off the V-List in one sitting: #12 smoke something and #29 drink alcohol. We are such bad Vasses. We spent yesterday afternoon in the downtown Hookah Lounge. In a large sun room filled with hanging plants and wicker furniture we smoked plum flavored tobacco through a penis shaped pipe. According to the waitress plum is the underdog of all tobaccos on the menu, the forgotten gem. We identified with the plum.
I never would have done this if it weren’t for the V-List. Trying something new makes me feel like I experienced the world a little more. Connecting with someone who is going through similar struggles makes me feel like I can handle what the world throws at me. I feel a bit more solid in each tobacco-infused, wine-happy, baby step.
