This morning we went to shul armed with lollipops just in case the rabbi only had fruit chews at the end of the service--which turned out to be the case. Baruch ha'Shem for forethought. But the forethought didn't extend to the fact that shul = life cycle events. People are married in shuls. People are Bar Mitzvahed in shuls. And, of course, babies are named in shuls.
The Bar Mitzvah boy didn't bother me this week because not only did I gain total immunity to Middle School Annoyance Disease (MSAD) through my many years as a middle school teacher, but I know that a B'nai Mitzvah exists somewhere in my future. When I didn't have any children, the Bar Mitzvahs bothered me a lot more. And perhaps I'll go back to feeling a little twinge after the twins pass through that stage of life if we don't have another child.
But the naming killed me. Especially since I woke to another wonky temperature this morning on CD3 (yes, I am still trying to time that fucking progesterone test). I know it is difficult to feel much sympathy for infertile women with children--even those whose kids were conceived via fertility treatments. There is probably a part of you reading this and saying, "but you got to have a naming and I may never get to have a naming" (um...this is assuming that you're Jewish. Fill in another event in case you are of a different religion). And it's true. But there is still a pain that one feels when they want a baby again so badly and their body is still continuing to let them down. Having it work once does not bring anything into your control the second time around. In the end, it is a different pain and it's one that is hard to put into words. It is not better or worse this time around--just different. The choices are more confusing. It is difficult to find the space to mourn and release the feelings that were easier to release the first time around. I spend a lot of time trying to keep my voice light in the first few days of a new cycle. And in the last few days too.
This woman had her newborn up at the altar and was going through a laundry list of reasons for why they named their daughter this particular name and all of their hopes for her. I really hated myself for everything I was thinking. That's still the same, regardless of whether you're currently parenting or not--you still end up spending a lot of time hating yourself for your thoughts.
CD3 is usually my worst day of the cycle. So it's all uphill from here, right?
I really got on to just post something about the Great Cake Day. Which is Monday. It's the closest we can get to having a party across space and time, with everyone able to participate, whether they have infertile neighbours or not.
Here's how it works. On Monday, bake a cake or buy a cake (or any decadent dessert from a box of Milk Duds to a pie to a freakin' congratulations-that-you-can't-conceive cake baked for you special by Duff from Ace of Cakes). And you take a picture. And you upload the picture to your blog along with a post that talks about anything you want. You can describe where you ate the cake or who you ate it with or how much you love this particular recipe (and post the recipe). Or you can talk about the walk you took to the bakery or how much you love everyone who commented on your blog this week or how freakin' sad you are that you ended up inadvertently going to a baby naming.
And then you send me the link. And I will compile a massive list of everyone who ate cake (or another dessert) on the same day. And I will post it on Monday and keep adding to it whenever I get a new link. And then you can jump from cake post to cake post and it is like we are all together in one massive party that spans from Washington, D.C. to somewhere in Tasmania (hi, Patience!). And this party is even better because it may take you days to make it through all of the posts and a three-day party is much better than a three-hour party, n'est-ce pas?
So go eat and be merry.
And this post was not meant to be a boo-hoo-for-me, but to be that release that I can't seem to find the space to do. And explain that it doesn't necessarily get easier. Even once I'm done building my family, I wonder if a part of me will always hate baby namings. And thinking like that makes me really sad. Before we started trying to conceive, I never thought I'd be the person who hated baby namings. It doesn't really match up with the person I am inside my head. It hurts to feel that discordance when the "you" you want to be doesn't really match up with the "you" you actually are.