Results of the BOSP Test: "Ooooohhhh, No!"

We’re on a bit of a dictionary kick over here at Let’s Generate. If we can’t procreate, damned if we can’t create some new vocabulary. Herewith, some new words for your edification:

Primary Infertility: When your primary waking thoughts, your main nocturnal dreams circle infinitely, futilely around the apparently impossible dream of having a child.

Secondary Infertility: When, following one successful conception and gestation, all you want is a second, or some other “higher order multiple,” child, and yet your desires are treated as insubstantial, inconsequential by friends, family, physicians, and fate alike.

Tertiary Anfertility: When your name is Anne and, following a series of fast conceptions and even quicker miscarriages, you suddenly find you are no longer even able to conceive.

Seriously folks. I conceived my first baby in 1 try, lost it at 8 weeks, the second in 2 tries, lost it at 12 weeks, the third in 1 try, lost it at 9 weeks. My problem heretofore has been staying, not getting pregnant. So four months of failure in a row now has me ready to lose my mind. I realize this is relatively little time in the annals of infertility. But you have to realize that what I’ve been steeling myself against is the heartbreak of my next miscarriage. The heartbreak of not even being able to conceive introduces a whole new brand of torment.

THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME

The Best Kind of Congress (the other kind is busy getting ready to eff up the Supreme Court)

Convacation Sex n. (2005): a convocation, or meeting, of two people for the purpose of attempting conception: conducted while the parties concerned are on vacation [we ate, drank, and had lots of ~]

It was good. I'll let you know if it leads to anything.

"Happy" Fouth of July

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all women are not created equal. That some are endowed by their creator with the ability to procreate while some are doomed to barren despair, and that amidst their griefs will be no new life and little happiness.

So, there I am at yet another infernal barbecue. This one really was enough to make an infertile relinquish all hope. The place was crawling with kids. My husband and I were literally the only couple there without spawn.

I felt like I was missing the season’s crucial accessory. Everyone else knew how to get a child. Several, clearly on very good terms with the Designer, had as many as three. Others had one or two, probably picked them up cheap at a sample sale somewhere. But still. I was the only one without the must-have look.

And these kids were all exceptionally adorable, beautifully behaved, beautiful looking, a sort of photo-shoot fantasy of having children. No one fought. No one spilled their juice (which in any case was the can’t-go-wrong parenting-professional choice: juice boxes of organic apple juice sipped through micro straws). They played on the swings. They pushed each other gently on slide. They sang. They got out the dress-up box and put on a very elaborate play the grow-ups were not allowed to watch. The infants smiled and cooed when they needed attention.

By the time I’d been there an hour, everyone knew my story. I felt compelled to explain myself. I felt that all those strangers needed to know that I read Vogue and Women’s Wear Daily. I *know* a single-minded focus on career is, like, so last season. I love children, really. And I deeply appreciate the value of family (an altogether different thing than so-called “family values”—don’t get me started). It’s just that my damn credit card keeps getting denied.

Must be an error with the fraud-prevention program. I swear I am an excellent credit risk. You let me have a baby and I promise I will never miss a payment. I will shower that child with love.

For now, I have only tears. Who knew a simple barbecue could make you so blue? Add the cold white shock of seeing the red of my period again this morning and there you have it: another holiday in hell.



P.S.
I am officially going to be on vacation, in the real world and in the blog world, for the next two weeks. I’ll be thinking of all of you and especially folks like Susie, and PJ, and Danae, wishing you all the best. See ya’ll when I get back.