How to be Happily Childfree in 10,000 Easy Steps

Accepting a child-free life is something I've never tried, but I'm pretty sure that's more a consequence of weakness of character rather than determination to battle against fate.

It's possible that I may still have to learn these 10,000 steps to being happily childfree, so I'm comforted to know that when the time comes, I'll have inspiration.

Thank you, LifeWithoutBaby.

Two Weeks' Silent Apostrophe

Watching shitty romantic comedies is my most guilty pleasure.

Actually, that's not true. Watching shitty romantic comedies is a guilty pleasure, but my most guilty pleasure is watching shitty romantic comedies over and over and over again.

Anything with Reese Whitherspoon, Meg Ryan, or Julia Roberts are obvious must-see-four-dozen-timeses, but I'll even watch Kate Hudson or Drew Barrymore vehicles at least 8 or 10 times over. Hell, I've seen Jennifer Aniston's Along Came Polly twice, and that movie is terrible.

It's a disgusting vice, I'll admit, but I do have a small shred of dignity that enables me to draw a line somewhere and keeps me from seeing one particular chick-flick a second time. I'm sure you've heard of it: it's the one where Sandra Bullock is a brilliant but uncouth attorney who works for High Grant's amoral yet lovable billionaire, and because he drives her crazy, she gives him her notice of resignation after which they fall madly in love and live happily ever after. (If I've spoiled the ending for you, I'm sorry. Also you're an idiot.)

I'm hoping you know the movie title so that I don't have to write it because I refuse to write it because it contains a grammatical pet peeve of mine that frustrates me more than almost any other: the absence of an apostrophe.

I will, however, write the title of the movie as it should have been, which is Two Weeks' Apostrophe Notice. The apostrophe is silent.

Similar to Two Weeks' Silent Apostrophe Notice, if there were a documentary film about my day yesterday, the title of that movie would be: Two Weeks' Apostrophe Delay. The apostrophe is, again, silent.

Yup, my donor has to delay the cycle for two weeks because she can't get off from work until June. I'm less than thrilled, as you might imagine, but I'm actually quite fine. I'm not crushed or mad at her. I'm not even remotely bothered by it. It really is totally fine.

I let my fellow PVEDers know about the postponement, and they appropriately booed and hissed and grumbled at the news. They really are a sweet and supportive bunch, and I'm super grateful to have them on my side.

But this isn't a tragedy. It's just two weeks' delay. Things could be far worse. I mean, someone else could have blogged about it, and there'd be apostrophes missing all over the place. How infuriating would that be?

Junkie

The word "junkie" can be applied to a number of things. It can refer to someone who suffers from an addiction, like heroin or needing to have a baby. It can indicate that someone really likes something, like wine or the idea of having a baby. And it can be used to describe someone who uses needles to shoot up drugs, like meth or things that help you have a baby.

Which, since we're on the subject, brings me to this:



My cycle officially begins in 6 days, and this photo includes most everything that I'm going to need in the coming weeks. The only things not included above are my prenatal vitamins, baby aspirin (to increase blood flow), and the birth control pills that I've been taking since February to get my cycle in sync with my donor's.

I also didn't include all the needles I'm going to be using. I have boxes and boxes and boxes of needles. And that's because I'm a junkie.

This addiction metaphor is being thrown out in a blasé manner, but I'm actually kind of serious. Heroin junkies and I have quite a bit in common, and I'm not just talking about the secrets of getting air out of a syringe without losing product, or that we both know the value of breaking off needles into our sharps containers so that they don't get too full too fast.

I'm talking about actual addiction.

I have close friends and family in various Anonymous programs, and I've worked in the field for long enough, so I understand that addiction is as serious as it is complicated. There's the physiological need and the psychological want. There's the social influence of a "normalcy" that isn't normal, and there are the emotional traumas that make us feel inadequate and empty. There's a way that all these components interconnect to make us turn to a particular behavior no matter how much it drains our resources and taxes our relationships because there's a yearning that creates a romantic hologram of such perfection that there's always some justification for "just once more, and that'll be it. I'm quitting. I swear."

I've been around addicts enough to know that these things apply to them, and I've been infertile for long enough to know that these things also apply to me.

So when I say that I'm a junkie, it's as much a joke as it isn't.

That being said, there is one key difference between drug addicts and me: my doctors are encouraging me to keep using. All of them. My therapist, my nurse practitioner, and my fertility specialists (or course) are all telling me that I should keep going along this path for as long as I want.

And so, inspired by their influence, I have to renounce the Serenity Prayer as being completely inapplicable to me. You know, the whole

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Because, in my case, I am not seeking the serenity to accept my infertility, and I'm not seeking the wisdom to know that it can't be changed.

I'm just seeking drugs.

But this egg donation is my last attempt at having a baby, and after this cycle, that'll be it. I'm quitting. I swear.