Instinct (and some pics)

It was my Mother Bear instincts that kicked in yesterday. I think it was also the deciding factor for me about accepting the little boy or not. See, our neighbour (on the farm next door to us, with the zebras) got wind that we were offered a little boy in addition to the little girl and phoned to ask if she could come and visit. First time ever that she came for a visit too! So, I was a bit curious about why the sudden visit? What I never knew was that she was struggling with infertility! She lives about a kilometre away from me and I just never knew! But how is this for a coincidence? She was getting treatment from the very same doctors as I was, in Durban. I mean, there's a team of doctors that work at the Life Centre (300 kilometres away!), and out of that team, she was working with the very same doctors at the very same practise as were on my case! How crazy is that coincidence?

Oh, my heart just broke for her! She said that it was the first time she'd ever spoken to anyone about her feelings. She and I shared our stories with each other, and many a tear were shed. But I realized while we were chatting, that though I understood EVERYTHING she said; though I shared a "been there, done that" t-shirt with her, I was already on "the other side". She already looked at me in much the same way as many of us infertiles look at those lucky ones who have gone on to become pregnant and have their dreams come true. She was envious of me! It was such a weird, awkward realization for me! Almost like, I no longer fit in the category of infertile anymore! Such a strange, out of sorts feeling. I mean, I am still one hundred percent totally incapable of having a baby pop from my own loins, but now I am getting two! Two precious little bundles that will call me Mommy. Me! How did that even happen? I'm telling you, it was all God. This can only be God's doing! And it just makes me want to sing His praises at the top of my lungs!

So, anyway, there we were sitting, dishing out tissues ten to the dozen, and then she piped up in a warbly, squeaky, too-afraid-to-even-ask little voice: "Char, are you sure that you want this little boy too?" and in her eyes I saw that kind of hope lurking, that only someone at the very edge of their resources has - a steady, quiet, determined type of desperation that prompts you to do things you would normally never do; that would prompt her to say, if given a chance, that she wanted him more than me. She never said it, but I felt it in her quiet little question. And that's when my Mother Bear Instinct kicked in. And I steeled my heart and said "Yes, I want him. With all my heart I want him. If I can have him, I will."

I told Robin later, when my defences were down again, that she was unwittingly the person who pushed me over the edge of indecision. Call it greed. Call it selfish. But I have a choice. And I've chosen him. I want him. And if I can, I will take him and love him till I breathe my very last breath. And then I will love him for eternity afterwards, when Jesus raises us from the dead at the resurrection. If God gives us these two little babies, I will treat them like the treasures they really are. Gifts from God Himself.

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Time for some pics of our progress in the nursery. But first I want to show you some really nifty things that I bought for the nursery that I just LOVE LOVE LOVE! It's weird how I always sort of had an idea of how I wanted to decorate my nursery one day if I ever fell pregnant and now that I'm preparing for our baby(s), my ideas are totally different to what I thought I'd like. And boy oh boy has my Nesting Instinct kicked in! It's kicking butt actually. (Almost as strongly as my Mother Bear Instincts, but a bit more frantic!) Anyhoo... So, I love storage and clever ways to make storage pretty. I found this AWESOME retro funky box and I just couldn't resist it. So I bought it on the spot. It now serves as my inspiration reference for everything we're making in the nursery.

Above: Inspiration Box

And then I went and chose some paint thingy-majiggies so I could choose the wall colours. I am still a bit undecided, but we have a thick chunky warm rug for the floor (because at the moment we have HORRIBLE cream lino floor tiles on the floor and I need something to hide them away. I console myself with the fact that they aren't green. Or grey. Or worse: patterned! Ugghhhh!... we're hoping to tile out the house soon, and then hopefully we will be forever rid of the dreaded lino floor tiles). But the rug we have is peach. Which just isn't my colour at all. But we'll work with it. Here are the paint sample thingy-me-bobs:-

Obviously I won't choose dark colours for the walls... but I don't want a pink room. Which is just as well, seeing as we might be adding a little boy to the room too! Yay! Once I've made my decision and started painting, I'll show you some pics again ok?

And then, I thought, well, let me paint all the wooden furniture white. And allow the room colours to be dictated by the accessories, rather than the furniture. So I painted even the toybox white... And then it looked bland to me. So I've pimped my toybox a bit too! haha. I couldn't resist. So, now it matches my inspiration box a bit! But that will be the only "wild" furniture in the room.

And then I bought some more nifty storage baskets. These will eventually go on the "bookshelf" next to the changing table, along with my inspiration box. At the moment they are just stashed in the cupboards with the other baby stuff, while I paint the bookshelf white. What a job! But eventually they will have a pretty spot to sit on.

We've been busy with plenty more too, but I thought I'd save a few photos for another day. And for when the room is looking a bit more loved and organized. I just can't believe that this stuff is all ours! Not someone else's for their baby. But ours. How lifechanging! Have I mentioned how excited I am??? (And poepbang at the same time?)

Of Frogs and Outcomes

My yesterday started with me climbing out of bed to get dressed. And stepping on a loving gift that one of my cats had left for me beside my bed. And it just happened to be something that bursts when you stand on it. From what I could make out as I tried my best not to add some of my supper to the mess scraped the gooey remnants from my footsole, it appeared to be a frog. And that set the tone for the remainder of what turned out to be Cycle Day One.

And this is what I spent the remainder of Cycle Day 1 doing...

- Asking God to help me be ok.
- Had lunch at a friend's house. Where there happened to be some other friends invited who had their baby three weeks ago.
- Endured much ooh-ing and ahh-ing.
- Asking God to give us a baby, for Robin's sake and not for mine. I'm done asking for myself.
- Holding friend's baby and wishing it was mine.
- Praising God for life. And asking Him to help me reconcile the fact that I probably will never hold my own baby. And to help me be ok with that eventuality.
- More ooh-ing and ahh-ing.
- Listened to lots of unsolicited advice from old aunties who have heard that I should just adopt and I'll miraculously fall pregnant soon after that.
- Refrained from telling them that right now it is impossible for a white South African to adopt. That I had personally phoned twelve adoption agencies and not ONE of them had been willing to even write down my name, because their waiting lists are 11,000 strong. And that if we were to adopt a baby with a different ethnic group to mine, I'd have to raise that child exactly as if I were it's ethnic equal. Which I wouldn't be able to do. Seeing as I am, unfortunately, not a Zulu. Or Xhosa. And therefore do not know how to raise a child as one.
- Nodded and said "Yes, I have heard stories like that before."
- Spent a lot of time staring at the baby and wondering if they would be able to catch me if I grabbed her and made a dash into the mountains considering my chances of ever acquiring having one of my own.
- Listened to four of the women talk about how "next time I fall pregnant, I'll definitely not have an epidural." And trying my best to look comfortable.
- Wondered if my friends would ever get past the Babymaking Age.
- Wondered if I would ever make it to the other side.
- Looked forward to the ripe old age of fifty, by which age, surely, I would no longer have to juggle wanting to spend time with my friends and wanting to avoid them because they are either pregnant, or trying to fall pregnant, or nursing, or only talking about how cute their little one is because they're now walking / talking / sitting on their own / starting school soon.
- Wondered if I would still have anything in common with them, by then.
- Thanked God that at least one of my friends will never have children, because of circumstances in her life which don't allow for it.
- Felt guilty for being so selfish.
- Asked God to forgive me for being resentful.
- Tried not to weep when Robin held the baby and remembered again that if it weren't for ME, he'd have been a father years ago already.
- Begged God to grant our request for a child, for Robin's sake. Again.
- Listened to some more unsolicited advice from grannies who never had problems conceiving, but who have all the answers.
- Eventually escaped Came home and had friends come to visit.
- Including the one I'm convinced is pregnant!

Am I a sucker for punishment or what?

Progress with a capital P

I suppose you could call it progress. This thing about me not really being "interested" in having a baby anymore. The pursuit of parentdom holds nothing for me anymore. It's about friggin time though, if you ask me.

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Christmas 2007 was exactly one year since I last took a fertility drug. I remember it so well: Christmas morning 2006. Shucks - I popped that handfull of pills with a prayer and a tight squeezing of my loins, in the hope that any spermies trapped inside there would stay put JUST IN CASE there might be, say, one little ripe egg awaiting a visitation. In a manner of speaking. But it was not to be. And so I struggled through last year - on the one hand really desperate to get back into that fertility treatment torture chamber programme, and the other hand clawing my way out of a pitt of despair and disappointment and shattered dreams.

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Two or three years ago, I did not even want to consider giving up that dream. The one that was rosy-coloured and had me sitting in a swing sipping iced tea, watching my children playing in the playground. Or the one where I wake up to the sound of my child's voice calling for me at night. Or the one where fifteen years from now I'm standing at the door with a shotgun awaiting my daughter's first date. OK, just kidding. Make that a bazooka.

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It was too hard to give up. I was addicted to a future of my own making. I was a slave to the hoping and the waiting and the treatments. My life revolved around appointments. Blood tests. Needles. And pills. Endless bottles of pills stacked neatly in a row. I even remember the dosage still today.

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I eventually came to the place where I begged God to remove the desire from me to have children, if it would never come to fruition. It was so weird even asking that of God, because for so long I had been shaking angry fists at Him, telling Him how He had let me down. I was livid that He would give children to teenagers. And drug addicts. And abusers. But not to me. Where was the "fair play"? Where was the "believe that ye receive it and it will be yours"? What about the "ask and it shall be given to you"? And the "if you have faith like a mustard seed..." What about all those promises? Why did they apply to others, but not to me? What made me the exception? Had God forgotten about me?

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I still don't have answers to any of those questions. Maybe one day in Heaven I can take Jesus aside and ask Him why. For now there still aren't any answers... but there is peace now. Peace that even though things don't always work out the way we want them to, we can still be happy. And at peace with God. He doesn't deserve the bad rap He's been given. Remember who Satan is - the accuser. And I was buying into all of his accusations. I shudder to think that I was standing side by side with him, shaking my fist at God because I didn't get what I wanted! How very selfish of me!

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And yet, this path I'm walking on was paved with special stones... stones Jesus handpicked for my life. Pebbles for the easier times, boulders that He would help me over and give me a hand up, if I let Him. Because He has a very special plan for my life, that will only happen when I seek for Him and find Him, if I seek for Him with all my heart. (Jer 29 v 13.) The harder times are just that: harder times. But they're not permanent. I'm almost halfway through my three-score-and-ten (that should give you an idea of how old I am), so there is still plenty of time ahead for me. God willing. Time which I can choose to allow God to lead, time to be happy and useful and a bearer of good news for others... or a bitter, sullen, angry person harboring resentment and standing on Satan's side. And that's not who I choose to be.

"Trust in the Lord with ALL your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths." Proverbs 3 v 5 & 6

I learned that verse many years ago, when I was still a springchicken teenager. At the time it was an easy verse to learn. In theory. It was stored in my head for these times, I'm sure. Now, when I'm learning to trust Him again with my future. Learning again how to not use my own initiative or think I'm more clever than God - I mustn't lean on my own understanding, and yet that's what I was doing. I was shaking my fist at God, and then tapping my body clock with the other hand and saying "God, look how old I'm getting! I don't want to be an OLD mom!" and then I stopped acknowledging Him at all. Prayer times, church times... all of it. I avoided any contact with God like the plague. No wonder He stopped directing my paths!

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It's not easy coming back to Him again. But I am reassured that He loves me. That He died to save even battleworn sinners like me. ESPECIALLY battleworn sinners like me, actually! And that makes me all the more grateful for the grace He's offering me. Because I don't deserve it. I wear the grace He offers me like a bright new shiny garment. It's all about Him. Not me. And that's what I call progress with a capital P.

Mammie

I've been trying to blog all day, but just couldn't seem to find something to blog about. Mmm... I've come to the conclusion that big-breasted women totally lack brains apparently my brains were vacuumed out during surgery, rendering me incapable of anything requiring imagination. It's hard to blog about anything but the boozies right now. Sorry folks. And I was trying so hard to "resume my blog's normal programming" too. Oh well. The stuck record is, well, truly stuck.

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Before I go though, I must tell you about my friend Riana's little boy, Jean. He calls his mommy "Mama". Apparently I am now officially mommy number two, because he's taken to calling me "Mammie". It was a bit heartsore for me the first couple of times he called me Mammie - I never thought I'd ever hear someone calling me that - but I must say, I am growing to love the sound of it. I get a wonderfully warm, squishy feeling when I hear him calling me that name, usually reserved for mothers. I could quite get used to it!

Moving forward

A few days ago (in the midst of cyber-nothingness, which is why I didn't tell ya'll about it) I got an sms from a friend who knew of someone who who might have three kiddies about to be placed up for adoption. They were aged a few months, 3yrs and 5yrs. In retrospect, I was surprised that I was not even remotely excited to receive the sms. Maybe it's because we've had so many false leads. SO many disappointments. So many attempts at building our family that have fallen through, that I can no longer muster up even a semblance of excitement at another "prospect." A little while ago I was beginning to feel like a scavenger, always on the prowl, my tentacles out, eagerly awaiting some news of some disaster that would leave an orphan looking for a home. And I even disgusted myself. How pitiful the realization that I was wishing some calamity to befall some family, to fulfil my desires for a child. And then, after I received the sms from my friend, Robin and I sat down and spoke about if we could or would take the three of them if we had an opportunity to. And we decided not to. An instant family is one thing. An instant family of "grown" children is another thing totally. We always said that if we adopted, it would be a baby. At the most two years of age. If possible. But taking THREE children all at once, and only one of them a baby - sjoe! The idea intimidates scares the bejibbies out of me! It makes me scared when I think of just how much of our life would change! It makes me scared of whether or not our finances would stretch to meet the needs of three extra people to care for. It makes me scared to wonder if I would cope. Full stop. My hubby is a total wizz with kids. Me? Not so much. He can handle bunches of kids simultaneously. I get the hippy creapies when there are more than a handful of them around me at once. They make me feel all out of sorts. Which brings me to the scariest realization of all: maybe I'm starting to get over my desire to have children. That must sound truly weird to all of you, especially after a lifetime so many years of pursuing the object of my desire: a baby to call my own. And also especially after the amount of money we flushed down the toilet. Along with the processed fertility treatments. After the buckets of tears shed. And the anger and frustration and the refusal to accept the inevitable. Well, maybe now I am accepting the inevitable. Maybe the idea of a future without children is no longer as scary as it was before. Maybe I'm beginning to accept it. If my hubby and I can still be so in love with eachother today as we were six (almost seven) years ago when we married, after trudging along this rocky road of infertility, then flip! we can walk the rest of our lives together and still be happy! And I don't need to feel guilty about feeling relieved. Shedding the burden of infertility is a difficult thing to do, but I'm determined to do it! There is more to life. And I'm SO going to live it.

The Stirrup Queen...

I just joined a really nifty webring, for infertility. (Thanks Mel!) I'll add the link to my sidebar soon, under the Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer or something like that! It's a really great resource site for anybody looking for anything related to anything related to anything related to fertility or infertility or surrogacy or adoption et cetera. Go and have a look! There are also bunches of other bloggers listed there who have so been there, done that. Awesome if you're feeling remotely lonely in your family-making-quest.

Moving forward

I must admit, I was kind of expecting a few comments on my post yesterday. But I truly wasn't expecting so many kind, thoughtful emails from my friends who know me well enough to know when it's time to comment and when it's time to mail. Blogging has so many rewards, but the biggest reward is being able to say what I want to say, and know my friends can read between what I've said and what I'm holding in, and stand in the gap for me. Thank you for your prayers and emails. Yes, this whole infertility / adoption / surrogacy thing has squashed my Hope considerably. I have moments of complete despair over it. And then I have moments when I feel totally distanced from it - as if I don't really care what happens, one way or another. I suppose it could be a protective mechanism. (Well, what do you know - at least something in my body is working the way it should!) But mostly, right now, it all just feels numb. I have this overwhelming "WHATEVER!" sensation. Which is a good thing, I guess. I prefer this to sitting and crying about things. I don't do crying. Hate hate hate crying. So, numb is much nicer for me.

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Of course, something that does always make me feel better is presents. I'm just saying. Thanks for the emails guys. But if you really wanna make me feel better, here's a (very condensed) list of things I would love (you know, just in case):-

1. An amazon.com voucher
2. A round-trip ticket to visit my tjommies in North Carolina and/or Brussels
3. An e-bay voucher (if they make such things)
4. flowers
5. C.K. Be (my fave perfume!)
6. Chocolates
7. Cappuccino in a real coffee shop (like starbucks)
8. A baby (or your eggs. You know, just in case you were considering it... I'm just saying!)
9. A visit to Oprah.
10. New boobs (feel free to contribute to my Boozie Fund. Details to be announced soon.)

In the meantime, I'll be rocking myself in the corner feasting on all the things I wouldn't be allowed if I was preggie, e.g. stinky cheese, cappuccino, sugar and junk.

Mopy Dopy

I'm at home today. Think I might have foot and mouth disease*. Seriously. On Saturday morning I awoke with my mouth feeling weird. Besides the normal dragon-breath, I mean. Almost as if I'd been eating pineapples all night. Like sore and, well, weird. I thought to myself, 'man, I really need to go slow on the sweets today!' and left it at that. By yesterday my mouth was one big blister. Inside, I mean. My cheeks, tongue, gums... ugghhh... and I am feeling o-so-sorry for myself. Boo hooo! What freaks me out a bit is that I have had something odd happening to my bod almost every week since we've been here! I mean, how many more weird "sick"nesses can I feel? From spray-painting the loo, to upchunking into buckets, to dizzy lizzy and now this! What next???

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I only tell you this so that you can feel sorry for me too, of course. My usual dose of feeling-sorry-for-myself-alitus isn't quite enough to cover it today. Long story short, the surrogacy is not going to happen and I've been staring down the barrel of a childless future. I am sooo disappointed about it too. Could it really be that this is my destiny? Everything in me just fights against that possibility. Everything, besides my baby-making bits, that is. Blasted bits!

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Let me tell you about the country I live in, and the clueless leaders who govern it. Just recently (about three or four weeks ago to be exact) parliament took a decision that South Africa and it's citizens are quite capable of caring for it's own orphans, and therefore does not need nor does it want to participate in placing any of it's orphans abroad, nor accept any orphans from abroad as candidates for international adoption. Basically, how this affects us is that because the baby from Marie-Jeanne would need to be adopted by me and my bloody awful bits, the surrogacy can therefore no longer be entertained. I've known this for a few weeks now, but between Marie-Jeanne and I, we've been trying to wangle a way to make it happen regardless. Many fruitless attempts later, many banging heads on doors, et cetera, and we are now dropping our hands in despair at a system that prohibits it's citizens from completing their families due to the ineptitude of it's governors. I am angry beyond comprehension at these ninkimpoops who rule over us. But trying my best to accept that this then is the way things are, and there's zip I can do about it. So I may as well not exhaust my energies on things I can do nothing to change. And I may as well not make myself unhappy in the process. Hard to do, but I'm really trying. This was an opportunity like no other, and one that seemed like the best solution to my infertility.

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It's just so incomprehensible to me that everything we've tried just hasn't worked for us (me). Is it really possible that I will never have any children? Really? Is this it then?

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So anyway, this foot and mouth saga is really just an excuse for me to sit at home and mope a bit. To refrain from interaction with happy people. Happy people with children of their own. Happy people with happy endings and children of their own. Why do they get to have happy endings and not me? I don't get it.

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The cherry on the cake was an innocent little sentence in an innocent email from an innocent family member mentioning in passing that they are trying for their second child and couldn't wait to find out they were preggies. And it just reminded me how easy it is for the rest of the planet. And how impossible it is for me. Really? Can planning a family really be that easy?

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Oh well! That was my rant. I'm done now. No more moping. For today. I have books to read. Cappuccino's to drink. And that should fill the gap for now. That and the prospect of new boobs, of course.

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*Joking, obviously. My boss started out with this sore mouth thing a few days before he got the flu too, a week or so ago. So, I know what's coming. Been taking it easy to see if I can ward it off. So, I'm not toooo concerned that it's foot and mouth disease. Haha!

A little bit of this n that

I wanted to tell you my booby appointment date and time, but my poor friend that is my contact person for the surgeon is going through a bit of a crisis at home, and the last thing I wanted to do is phone her to ask her for the number and be all frivolous and frolicky when she's under so much pressure... That would be careless. And I like to think I'm not that self-involved. So, again, it's The Waiting Game. Which is of course the way things work in my life, and I shouldn't be in the least surprised.

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But I just had to share a few pics of our weekend with you. My sister, her hubby, my nephew and one of our friends came to visit us in the bush. We had SUCH a good time. The men did the usual "manly" thing they usually do when they come to visit - sit on our stoep and shoot things off of our fence, go quad biking, fishing and then shooting things off the fence again... you know... manly stuff. And us gals? We did whatever we wanted to. It was absolutely fabulous, darling. Think loads of food, fresh air, lots of laughter, a movie or two and haphazard naps. The perfect long weekend. (For all of you non-South-Africans, yesterday it was Heritage Day in here. Hence the long weekend.) It was also Braai Day! (That's South African for BBQ - pronounced like "high" but with a "brrr" instead of the "h".)

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Now look at that picture and tell me we don't look like a bunch of hillbillies, with the guns and all? That's L - R : Dale (friend), Robin (irresistably sexy hubby) and Andrew (bro-in-law)

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Robin in his Bourne Ultimatum pose.

(That's a Josh Duhamel wannabe if I ever saw one! hahaha... remember Win A Date with Tad Hamilton? hahaha.)

More pics tomorrow. I forgot my camera at home. Just call me Clever Trevor. (These pics above are from Dale's camera)

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It was also my tjommie Chantell's birthday. Happy birthday my tjommie. If only I could have phoned you. I hope you were spoiled vrot though, my pommie.

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As if that's not enough to fill the day yesterday, it was aaaalso the day on which my old school-friend Kate gave birth to her little girl, Freya Molly *Surname*. Welcome to the world, little Freya. I wish you and your mommy and daddy a WONDERFUL life together, with sunny days spent chasing butterflies and splashing around on the farm, friends as awesome as your mommy was to me, gifted teachers at school, not too many people teasing you about your interesting name, and a life overflowing with blessings and beauty!

Down In the (Hillbilly) Dumps

I recently found out that a friend of a friend is pregnant. I was shocked because I really thought they were one of those couples who would never have kids. Not because they couldn’t have, but because we sort-of thought they didn’t really want to have any. When I heard via the grapevine that they are pregnant, that old familiar companion, my horrible hope-ometer kicked into full swing again. First the rush of jealousy that accompanies any pregnancy announcement. You know, the ‘One Standard Issue Jealousy Package. Simply Add One Pregnancy Announcement. Especially Enhanced with an Added Kick for the “It Wasn’t Planned” Anecdote. Guaranteed to Work Every Time.’ Then it’s the rush of disappointment that it’s not me. That I won’t get to have an unplanned pregnancy. Ever. Then it’s the rush of self-berating. Reminding myself that they have every right to have a family, regardless of whether or not I can. Or can’t. Whatever. Then it’s the “Well, I’m glad they don’t have to struggle like we do.” And then, it’s the wondering if they really appreciate the pregnancy… if they were genuinely happy to look at that pee-stick and see a double line. I’m not talking specifically about this couple that we just heard is pregnant, mind you. Just in general. And then I torture myself with thoughts about how big the baby is already, if they have felt it move yet, if they got to hear the baby’s heart beating at that first scan and realize what a miracle that really is… and if they appreciate how friggin lucky they are. And then I force myself to stop thinking about it. Because honestly, I can drive myself crazy thinking about it. Dwelling on it. Feeling anger and resentment. And killing my joy. But, that’s not how I want to live my life. So I decided not to. Instead I decided to be happy for them. And I genuinely am. I wanted to go shopping for them today and buy them an enormous bunch of flowers and lots of baby things and send it to them so they know we really are happy for them. My insecurities and stupidities and jealousies are almost always very short-lived. Thankfully. Because, really, there is so much for me to live for. I don’t need to be miserable because I can’t have children. We have a fantastic new life here in the bush. Where I wake up to the sounds of cows moo-ing and chickens cluck-clucking. And birds chirping. Honestly, the only thing that could make me happier here in our little hellhole Hillbilly Dump would be to hear the sounds of my babies’ laughter. And that’s not far off either. One day, we’ll have our ducks in a row for the surrogacy… one day. And then, watch out cows and chickens – you’ll be in for some competition on the Hillbilly Dump!!!

Little Joshua

I am rushing around today, but I just couldn't resist posting these beautiful pics of little Joshua (see yesterday's post for details). Isn't he just the cutest little thing? I'll try my best to post later again today.

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Absence makes the heart grow fonder...

I've been having flashbacks to when Robin and I were still dating, and living thousands of kilometres apart. The enormous phonebills that would arrive at the end of every month. And the pining. Oh, the pining. He has only been away for two days so far, and I'm suffering some severe withdrawal symptoms. Oh well, that's two days less until I see him again. The countdown begins.
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Good news, though! My friends Hanlie and Jair had their little boy today! He arrived at 10h34 weighing 3.3kg's and is 50cm's tall! They have named him Joshua. Welcome to the world, little Josh! And congrats to Jair, Hanlie and Bella (Joshua's older sister).

Sick of me

I must admit, I've been rather proud of myself since this post. I was de-ter-mined to think and blog about anything other than babies. And in retrospect, it wasn't even really hard to refocus on other things. Granted, we've had a few major happenings to be preoccupied with, but, pushing "baby" thoughts out of my mind has been kind of like putting a plaster (that's a band-aid for you guys in the Americas) on a broken leg. It hasn't fixed things. Not that it can really be fixed... but not thinking about things is really hard to do, actually. I suppose I've been faking it a bit. The chit-chat's about All Things Not Baby. It's a farce. Because, those Desperately Seeking Baby thoughts still lurk beneath the surface. Grrr... How I wish there was a way out of infertility. I am sick of being infertile. Feeling like a scavenger. Wishing for a way out. Wondering where my baby will come from. Wondering if I'm doomed to be childless for ever.

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I started writing this post early this morning. I had just written the "wondering if I'm doomed to be childless for ever" when an email arrived from a dear friend whom Robin and I had recently asked to be a surrogate for us. Her email held her response to our BIG question. She said no. I would have thought I'd be more disappointed than I am. But truly, I'm not really even half as disappointed as I thought I'd be. She's a fab friend, and one we love dearly. And of course, we'd have loved it if she'd said yes, obviously, but we really believe that God is good to us. All of us. And together she and I and Robin had been praying for God's leading in our specific situation. And now that we have a reply, how can I believe that her reply is anything other than God's will for us in this specific situation? Maybe God has someone else in mind? Maybe. Maybe not. But I am determined to trust Him no matter what. And our friend also trusts Him. And together, I believe this decision is for our good. All of us. Robin and I and our friend.

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And so we will continue with our adoption proceedings from Kaszakstan.

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It takes me by surprise sometimes, this desire for children. Because it underlies every other decision we make. You'd think that by now, I'd be willing to sell my car and buy a two-seater, right? Nope. I need the boot space for in case we need to stash a pram in there one day. There's this tv cabinet that I love. But it has glass inlays. Therefore, I'm no longer very interested in it. Because what if one day I'm a parent, and we have a toddler running around and s/he trips and crashes through the glass? We even bought a one hundred percent leather lounge suite when it was time to refurnish our lounge, becuase leather is child-friendly. Easy to clean. And all of that.

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Fat load of good all our planning did for us.

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The hardest part about being infertile lately is the helplessness of it. The realization that there's nothing more to do to fix this. The knowledge that we are dependant on someone else to "give" us a baby. It does suck. Nobody would choose this for themselves. Or for their worst enemies.

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And I'm also sick of always being down about it. Maybe one day I will be able to think about being infertile without feeling crushed? Maybe one day I won't even think about it anymore? Well, that would be amazing. Not thinking about it anymore.

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Then there'd be no more posts like this. And you guys would also be happy.

Moms who kill

I am shocked at the news today of the tragedy when a mom in Oak Hills, Texas, took her own life after hanging her three children! The baby survived. I guess it is just beyond my fathoming that someone could do this - and to children! Of course, I realize there is such a thing called Post Partum Depression, and extenuating circumstances, etc. but I also believe there comes a time when that person is still compus mentus and responsible for their actions, and that that somebody should seek help. What has happened in this incidence makes my blood boil. Perhaps I am a little more sensitive to crimes against children, what with our inability to have them and all, but this woman was beyond irresponsible. Am I overreacting? Is this not one of the most selfish tragedies you've ever heard of?

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I suppose us non-mommies - and I mean specifically those of us who can't have children, not those who choose not to have children - have a slightly more "critical" eye when it comes to parent's behaviour... and if I'm really honest, we like to believe that if or when we become parents, we would never do that! Which is, of course, totally stupid! Because until we're in that same position, how could we know how we'd react?

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Post Partum Depression is not an imagined condition. It is so very real and affects many many women. Unfortunately it is a silent disease. That is to say, not many people talk about it. And so the poor women suffer in silence, crying out for help to a deaf audience.

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I wonder if that woman in Oak Hills suffered from Post Partum Depression? And I wonder, would I excuse her beastly behaviour if I knew she had it? None of us will ever know what led her to do what she did. And even if we knew, would we I still stand in judgment of her? Would I climb off of my high horse and feel for her?

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I don't know. But I am just so angry saddened by it. There are so many of us who would sell our kidneys to purchase a baby (if it were legal, of course!), and then the lives of children are stolen at the hands of their own parents. It makes me so very cross.

Baby Ban

You know what? I am sick to death of my whole life revolving around babies. Trying for babies. Avoiding the baby isle at the shops. Babies babies babies. And my inability to have them. I spend my free time hovering around other people's infertility blogs, reading books about fertility, how to make a baby, what infertility does to your spirituality, warra warra fish paste. I'm so sick of it. So, unless something enormous happens, I'm not going to be posting about babies again. At least not for a long time. Ok? There needs to be more to me than this. No more. I'm done. Finished. Finito. Philile. Xa. Finished en klaar. Over and Out.
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What will I be writing about? I really don't know! And that, my friends, is all part of this journey. I reserve the right to change my mind though. I am the writer of this blog, after all. I am also fickle. So, I might just be posting about another thing baby-related later today. Who knows? Right now, this very moment, I'm gatvol for it. So, adios all-things-baby-ish.

Little Eli

I couldn't resist posting these new pics of little Eli that Channies sent me today. Isn't he just the cutest little thing? Too beautiful!
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Hurry up and wait

This is the story of my life, I think. Hurry up! and then wait...

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First it was the donor eggs and IVF story and having to wait till the 15th of May for my first appointment. I must admit though, that those doctors who do the treatment look seriously dodgy! I looked at their website and although it's all pretty much above board, and even though they are well-renown, etc. they still look dodgy to me. I would post a link to their website, but I don't want a lawyer beating down my door for slander. So, let's just leave it at Dodgy Docs.

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And now it's the adoption thingy too. The one South African agency that I've found that does adoptions from Russia just emailed me to say that their international adoptions department is currently on hold. They will only be re-opening it at the end of April. Grrrreat. But why would their international adoptions be on hold? What does that mean? Are they on holiday or what? Don't they know there are some seriously desperate serious wannabe-adopters out there? Like me. I am a seriously desperate serious wannabe-adopter. I wannababynow!

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Uggghhhhh... I was never any good at waiting. And now I get to specialise in it.

Eeny Meeny Miny Mo

The last time I shared with you about our JTBP (Journey To Becoming Parents), we had decided to do the whole donor eggs story remember? Well, while I've been waiting for The Big Day (15 May) of my appointment at the fertility specialists, I've been simultaneously investigating adoption from Russia. I'm still humming and haa-ing sitting on the fence investigating both, you see. Both options are very time-consuming and big black holes for our hard-earned dosh.

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It must be difficult for you very fertile women to understand the desperation us infertiles feel. It's quite unlike anything I've ever had to face before, because it's not something we can deal with, lay to rest and carry on with life, with our neatly-labelled-infertility bottled and stashed in the pantry, never to be opened again. As regularly (or irregularly) as our cycle comes around, that's as regularly (or irregularly) as we get to face those same demons all over again. Those doubts that God really loves me, because surely if He did, He would answer my prayers! The inability to see beyond the pain. The absolute despondency and the growing hatred of the body you're stuck in. Every available resource that would enable us infertiles to have a child of our own is bloody very expensive. Whether you go through the whole fertility treatment rigmarole, or adopt from some far-flung country, it's all going to steal all our savings. What comes so easily to you, will never be an option for me.

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And it makes deciding what to do with our meager savings quite a tough decision. Because we can either adopt from Russia (a sure thing, with a definite happy ending and resulting in an empty savings account) or try IVF (and maybe stand a miniscule chance at having a child that carries our genes and still empty our savings account). The one has a definite happy ending, the other a big fat question mark. But both leave us dirt poor! haha.

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For me, the money makes no difference. We've lived with little before, and I'll happily live with little again, if it means that I'll be clutching a baby all my very own in my arms. What does make a difference though, is which option will give us a good return on our investment! haha! Because, once the money is gone, it's gone. Ga. Oh. Nn. Eh. Gone. And that leaves us with NO options for our next "try" at becoming parents.

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So what should we do? Help! We need some help in this decision!

Sleeping pills, Cappuccinos and One Baby Please

Sleep? Who needs sleep? If I slept more than three hours last night, then that's a lot! Put me on the couch, watching a really good show, and I'm asleep before you can say Tom-Welling-could-leave-his-toothbrush-in-my-bathroom-cabinet-any-day.

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Instant Insomniac. Just add bed.

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That's me. My mistake last night was waiting until about 01h30 before I popped a sleeping pill. So, today, I'm like Mr Bean with the toothpics holding up his eyelids... But yippee! It's Monday, and that means I get to have my 1 x cappuccino (my beloveds!!!) per week. Bliss.

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Some other news.

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Robin and I are not happy to live our life without children in it. So, we are exploring new options. One of them being... wait for it... donor eggs! Anybody want to share your eggs with me? haha. Just kidding. I have made an appointment with a NEW doctor at a clinic here in Westville, about three minutes from my home / office... but the earliest appointment they could give me is 15 May, so once again, we are playing The Waiting Game. Nothing new. Anyway, depending on what this doc says, we will either proceed with the I.V.F. (I never in a million years thought I'd be willing to go the I.V.F. route! Just shows where desperation will lead you!) or we will forget the whole "have our own baby" thing, and start adoption proceedings from Russia. Both options are very expensive (tens of thousands of rands per try!) but what's another couple thousand in the deep pond of our baby-making-spendings? So, here we go again. One rocky rollercoaster road please. With sprinkles.

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Aren't you all getting sick and tired of reading about our mis-conceptions? I know I am. That's one of the reasons why I so badly want to take a shortcut now and just adopt! Less hormones, less stress... Less is more!

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Here we go again.

The Names of The Babes

My god-son, Caleb, is being born today, to one of my fave cousins, Sharnay, and her hubby Kevin. Kevin reckons labour is like fishing: patience patience patience! haha. I know a few friends who've given birth recently who would have a lot more descriptive expletives adjectives to use! haha.
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So today my mind is in Port Elizabeth, wondering how Sharnay is doing. I can't wait to hear that little Caleb has arrived.
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Have you noticed that it's a Baby Boom at the moment? It's just babies left right and centre. Every second day I'm posting another blog about another friend having another baby. It can become rather confusing! It's a little inconsiderate don't you think? I mean, couldn't they have consulted eachother before they conceived? Just a little ok, you're due in Feb, I'll go for March, you in April etc. Haha! Just kidding.
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Just yesterday I got the cutest video clips from Quinton and Christine in Brisbane, of their newest little babe Keana, with one of their other daughters Paige. And me, being the excitable silly billy that I am, I immediately sent them an email that went something like this:

Thanks for the groovy video clips you sent! Little Paige is just the cutest thing! :o) ... [blah blah blah... etc etc... warra warra fish paste... etc etc... and then:] The pics of little Noah are so peaceful... who knew she had such a loud voice! haha.

Oh my! Imagine my embarrassment when I received a message from Christine saying (and I quote)....

Oh yes, by the way, in the email you sent me my baby's name is KEANA not Noah! Come on girlfriend get with the program.

Hahahah! I'm still crimson. See? I'm so bad. I'm bad with names to begin with... but throw a bunch of new babies onto the planet all in one foul swoop and I'm bound to get their names all jumbled up. Hahahah! I'm terrible!

So I've come up with a plan. 'n Boer maak 'n plan! Henceforth, all new arrivals will be dubbed The Baby. Short and sweet. Sweet and simple. No room for confusion. Silence can't be misquoted, but silence isn't an option for me with my big mouth. So, The Baby it is.

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Edited to add:

P.S. I just remembered another really embarrassing time I got names confused. For many years I dated a really groovy guy named Shaun. And while Shaun and I were together, Robin and Debbie were together. About a year after Robin and I broke up with our respective exes, Robin and I started dating. It was on one rather romantic occasion that I hugged Robin and said: "I love you so much, Shaun!" Hysterical laughter! Splatter splatter! Gasp gasp! Shock horror! Where is the Rewind button when you need one?!? Well, lucky for me, about two weeks later, Robin said to me, "Deb, you're such an awesome lady! I love you so much!" hahahahaha! Phew! I was so relieved! hahaha! So, those two incidents cancelled eachother out, and we were even stevens. hahaha. So, you see? I wasn't lying when I said I really am B-A-D with names.