Soapbox

Xbox4NappyRash was asking the other day why people who have issues with fertility or trying to conceive seem to ignore the fact once we get pregnant.

“From what I see and read, there are also relatively few recounts from people who have been here [dealing with infertility] and emerged out the other side. I find it hard to grasp why they would almost pretend it never happened.

They must remember the sadness, they must remember the frustration and they must remember the prayers they offered, or deals they were willing to strike with anyone, just to end their longing.”

I am thrilled to be pregnant, I am also aware of people who are still reading my blog while trying to conceive. I find myself trying not to blog about the mundanities of pregnancy; especially early pregnancy with its fear of miscarriage, because I don’t want to feel like I am rubbing it in.

For this same reason, I am less likely to comment on infertility blogs. Someone said that ‘her diagnosis of secondary infertility between her 2 children didn’t last long enough to mean anything’ and that is how I feel. I don’t feel like I have any right to have an opinion on TTC anymore.

We did 4 months of low stress trying and then 12 months of concerted trying; complete with cycle counting, sex on cue and propped hips afterwards. Also added in for extra flavour, cycle depression, many ‘just relax and stop trying’ comments and the always welcome ‘well maybe you are just trying too hard, stop stressing about it’.

I have been bitter and wept at pregnancy and birth announcements. I have lamented my bitterness when a pregnancy announcement that hurt me badly ended in miscarriage, twice. I have been happy for friends, but sad, so awfully sad for me and then horribly sad when their pregnancies ended in sadness too. [No link for my other friend, she doesn’t blog]

I feel like I have walked over hot coals to get here, but compared to others, I had an easy run. Because of that, I don’t feel qualified to offer advice on infertility. It feels like I wasn’t there for long enough to be considered part of the group.

I don’t talk about trying to conceive much anymore. It feels a little surreal, but more than that, I would hate for someone to come and visit my blog only to feel blindsided by my pregnancy. The last thing you need at the end of a failed cycle is to head over to someone who has been understanding and sympathetic, only to find them whinging about morning sickness, exhaustion and toddler tantrums.

We do indeed remember the sadness and the frustrations. We remember our longing; the prayers and deals offered all too well. That’s why once you walk through the fire and end up on the other side, you are a bit hesitant to talk about it.

I remember intensely the feeling of hollow emptiness at the beginning of every period. I remember how angry I was with other people simply for being pregnant when I wasn’t. I remember the heart breaking sadness of a failed cycle; of knowing that my daughter was going to be just that little bit older; knowing that the age difference was going to be that little bit bigger.

Once you have walked over the hot coals that is TTC, you are much more aware of how tenuous this all is. Of how lucky you are to be in this situation and how close you came to not being here right now.

It makes you infinitely more grateful for everything, but also so much more aware of everything that could go wrong. Because you wanted this so badly, it tears the carpet out from under your feet when you just need to whinge about it all. Someone is always ready to remind you about how badly you wanted this, and what right do you have to whine when *someone else* has never seen 2 pink lines, or heard the doctor say congratulations.

I can’t claim infertility because in the end, I didn’t need treatment to fall pregnant with this little one.

I can’t claim a surprise pregnancy either, because it took us so long to get here.

I remember exactly what it felt like when I wasn’t here. I know that I will be a much more supportive friend to anyone needing fertility treatments, doctors visits or simply a shoulder. I know that this has made me a stronger person and it has made me that much more grateful for a strong heartbeat and morning sickness.

And I am able to stand here and sing ‘Ner ner neernerner’ at the ‘just relaxers’ because I know we conceived on a train wreck of a cycle, when I was more stressed than I had ever been. I am living proof that relaxing doesn’t get you pregnant, it takes a sperm meeting an egg, in whatever way you can get that to happen.

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When Burgh Baby’s Mom asked me to tell you all about what I like and dislike about blogs, my mind started running at 100kph.

Burgh Baby’s Mom wrote:
Hmmm . . . How about talking about what you like/dislike about blogs? Maybe what annoys you and what you love? No names, obviously, just some general observations.

Then I started thinking about how to write it so that no one was offended.

The answer? Try not to write about what annoys me. Instead twist everything for a positive look.

I like and subscribe to many blogs, most are ‘Mummy’ blogs (and I use that term very very loosly because most Mum’s blog about anything and everything). Actually, I think damn near all of them are except maybe a few. See, I like the solidarity we share as parents.

Hey! Your kid doesn’t sleep either? And you have trouble brushing her teeth? Me too! Yay!

I like realism. I want to know that you are a real person with a dirty washing pile and dishes sitting in your sink. I want to imagine that you found a bad apricot in the bottom of the fruit bowl that meant you had to throw out a weeks worth of fruit. I want to know that as I am up at 2am despairing of ever sleeping again, you could be too.

I love humour. Shit happens, at least we can laugh about it, right? Hell, what else can you do.

I want to be drawn into your blog. When I visit someone new, I generally read the entire front page of their blog. This means that if I visit and your last post was a filler or a ‘I’m sick, go away’ post, that isn’t all I am looking at. Also, I try and visit everyone a second time, but sometimes I forget. If you think I should be reading you and I’m not, then you can email me and yell if you like. I will come visit you if you pester me. I tend to forget.

Some bloggers, I feel like I could sit and have a cup of coffee (or tea, or tequila) with the author. I like blogs like that. I want people to feel like that here! (Do you feel like that here? Do you? Huh?)

I must admit, I am a little biased against blogger though. NOT because of the quality of blogger blogs, no, many of my favourite blogs are hosted on blogger and I adore them all (hell, I started on blogger!) but because of blogger’s comment form. I can never make the damn thing load without at least 2 page refreshes! What is up with that? Does it happen to anyone else?

Also captchas. I HATE captchas with a passion. A lot of the time the picture refuses to load and then I am left refreshing and refreshing until it does. Sorry, I know some of you get attacked by spam regularly and need the captchas to filter everything. I think blogger probably needs to sort itself out some kind of spam filter for people to use.

Hear that Blogger? Build a damn spam filter and get rid of the captchas already! Geez.

I know some people choose not to blog about the bad bits of motherhood and life. They never write about sleeplessness and messy faces. We never hear about poo, snot or vomit. Their kids are always clean and happy. No sibling rivalry, no fights, no mess. Sunshine and fairy floss.

It’s their blog and they can choose to write about whatever they like. However this is my brain and I refuse to implode it with impossibilities I can’t counter.

This lady says it brilliantly.

I definitely like more things than I dislike. I can probably count on one hand the number of blogs I refuse to visit (and no, I don’t think any of those people have actually ever visited me). These people tend to be argumentitive and very quick to judge other people. That said, I shouldn’t be judging them on the basis of just a blog. They may be very nice people in real life.

Sheesh, do you know how hard it is to round up a post like this without sounding like a hypocrite or a bitch?

Then again, endings have never been my strong point. Sorry bout that.

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Like always, I run a day ahead and therefore a day behind of the blogosphere. Yesterday, 22nd January was Blog for Choice day. Go ahead, Google it. I am sure you will find a bunch of posts about it. It probably doesn’t help that I am posting this at 11pm on the 23rd. I am disorganised okay?

I am firmly pro-choice, even though I have never had to make that decision, the hardest decision some women have had to make, because at the end of the day, it is MY life and MY body. I want the right to have MY say over what happens to it.

When I was 15, I sat on the phone to my friend and listened to her cry as she recounted her experiences to me. She was 14.

FOURTEEN for goodness sakes.

She found out she was pregnant a week after she and her boyfriend broke up.

She made the hard decisions alone.

Went to the clinic alone.

And came home, alone.

She rang me in her aloneness, to cry on my shoulder, even though we were thousands of kilometres apart.

Nothing I could have said or done would have made that choice easier for her. But in the end, that is all she needed.

She needed a choice.

Each woman deserves the right to choose, depending on her own morals, depending on her own unique circumstances, what happens to her. No one should be allowed to take that right away.

What if she was 12?

What if it was unconsensual?

What if it was YOUR daughter in that situation? Wouldn’t you want to be able to give her a choice?

I know I am not in the US and I am hoping like hell that Australia never tries to take my right to choose away. So instead, I am writing this in support of all my friends in the US whom, without this movement, may one day find themselves, or their daughters in a positions where there are no choices.

And that would suck.

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I said I wouldn’t do it, but here I am, jumping in boots and all to give you my opinion on the whole t-shirt debacle.

The T-shirt Debate.

An Aussie clothing chain has released a set of t-shirts emblazoned with various slogans.

I pinched this picture from Megan at imaginif. Thanks.

Parents are up in arms, calling for the tops to be recalled, that they are unacceptable, and that they shouldn’t be worn.

Apparently they turn girls into slutty seeming, sex wanting bitches. Boys become drunk, asshole (really that should say arsehole. We are in Australia here), pimps.

Parents are swearing that they will NOT buy these t-shirts, etc etc.

Fine. Don’t buy them. Finished.

However, the more that teenagers perceive that these tops are controversial and likely to cause anger, the more they are going to want wear them.

Would I buy them for my daughter? Probably not. Would I have bought them for myself when I was 14-15? Most certainly. Am I going to have a hissy fit if Amy walks in wearing something similar when she is 14? I doubt it.

The shop in question selling them is marketed towards teenagers who are able to buy their own clothes, not teens still dependent on their parents for money.

My mother was laid back and when it came to the small things, she was prepared to let them go. I wanted to dye my hair purple and green and blue? Okay, she would help me do it (it wouldn’t work by the way, my hair was too dark).

You know why? Because it was ONLY HAIR. It grows back. I could have shaved it and she wouldn’t have batted an eye. She also let me wear whatever I liked. She helped me pick them out even. When I was 16 she bought me these boots.

Because she let me be my own person, clothes and hair were never rebellious points for me. I never ‘acted out’ by cutting my hair and wearing ‘odd’ clothes.

Sure, I made some clothing choices that were in (very) poor taste, but once I realised that I stopped wearing them.

These tshirts are going to become more popular now that there is such a controversy surrounding them. More teens are going to want to wear them for the reaction they garner.

I remember what highschool was like.

The kids with the strictest parents were the most likely to lie and change clothes after they left the house.

The kids with rich parent had access to hard drugs and the liquor cabinets.

The kids with deadbeat parents smoked dope.

Generalisations I know, but that was what it was like. These kids BRAGGED about what they got up to.

‘My Mum doesn’t know I wear heavy makeup and tight tops because I change in the dunnies at school’

‘My pars never notice that I am getting smashed on their alcohol because they are too busy at work’

‘My parents don’t give a fuck what I do, so I get stoned with me mates’

In the scheme of things, a thirt is such a small thing. It doesn’t make the person and it doesn’t say anything about who they are.

You have to let teenagers make their own decisions when it comes to the small stuff.

You have to choose your battles.

Is wearing a stupid t-shirt for a while, until it becomes uncool, actually going to affect the person your teenager will become? I highly doubt it.

Are they going to act out more if you make it into a big deal? I would lay money on it.

Also? The Mr Pimp t-shirt that has all the (supposed) sexual connotation that are getting up peoples noses? A ‘pimp’ to a teenage boy is a boy popular with the ladies. It isn’t sexual at all.

Feel free to disagree (politely of course) with me in my comments section. I will explain my reasoning behind this whole breakdown of the teenage psyche. Remember I was in highschool a few short years ago. I haven’t forgotten what it was like.

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