Just Life

I feel as if I’ve had quite an intense month or two, not only recovering from illness, but also with some pretty serious posts, some intense voluntary work, and so a lot of thinking and writing about infertility and pregnancy loss.  So it’s now Friday afternoon, which means time for another post, and my mind is blank.  Actually, it’s not completely blank (thank goodness!), as I’ve thought of a number of post topics, including a follow up to Biscuits and Broccoli about tomatoes.  I love tomatoes, I understand that some people don’t love tomatoes, and I feel very sad for them that they’re missing out on the absolute joy I felt a few days ago as I sliced into a tomato to toss into my fried rice and smelled that beautiful scent, that promise of deliciousness.  But unlike the “just adopt” folks, I would never try to convince someone to try or to eat tomatoes if they didn’t want to.  Though, really, I ask you, why wouldn’t you want to?  (I know, I know ... and I have now been completely distracted and have gone off to write a post about my general love of tomatoes here.)

Anyway, after the intense month or two, for the last week, or perhaps last few days, I’ve just been enjoying life. I’ve had a book-club get-together, had a friend to visit, went out to dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen in ages, been out to brunch at my favourite place on the weekend with my beloved, saw a movie, and I’ve been trying to catch up with my reading of paper books (I’m an e-reader convert). 

I’ve been working out more intensely, determined to try to lose some of that sickness weight, as well as the still-there Christmas weight, and holiday-in-Thailand weight.  Then I’ll be able to start losing that extra last-three-years weight. 

And I’ve had coffee ... a few times ... in nice places.

And I’ve been working hard to finish a photobook of our European trip last year.  I love photobooks.  And I’m a bit of a perfectionist.  So the photo has to be exactly right, the placement of a group of photos has to be exactly right, and the text has to be right.  As my husband said, the book will cost a hundred dollars or so (more), but the time I’ve spent on it probably goes into the tens of thousands of dollars!  Yes, this is what happens when you’re self-employed, and don’t have many active contracts.  I only have a few technical things to check out now and then I'll be finished.  I'm always a bit nervous though when I send in the order. What if there's a glaring typo or mistake?

So I’m looking forward to the free time I’ll have.  Of course, my To-Do List is already incredibly long.  I don’t understand people who say they get bored.  I have more free time than most, and I still can’t do everything I want to do.  Imagine if I had kids!

Biscuits, broccoli and bias

Despite knowing I’ll never be a mother, I am often fascinated with issues of child psychology, and enjoy listening to interviews about this.  Perhaps I can do so happily because of the lack of guilt (I'm not doing anything wrong) and the smugness of knowing I can never be criticised for my child-raising skills or lack thereof. 

Anyway, I recently heard a discussion about babies/toddlers and when they become aware that what they want/like might not be what someone else wants/likes. 

Here’s the example they gave.  A baby is given first a biscuit (in my world, a biscuit is a cookie), and then broccoli.  After trying both, the baby is given the choice, and chooses the biscuit.  And every time after that the baby chooses the biscuit.  Clearly, the baby prefers the biscuit.  Then the mother tries the biscuit and broccoli.  But the mother makes positive noises about the broccoli (mmmm, yum, that’s good) and not about the biscuit.  Then the baby is asked to choose one of these for the mother.  At 14 months old, the baby hands the mother the biscuit.  At that age, baby thinks “biscuit good” and therefore gives it to the mother, even though the mother has said “biscuit bad, broccoli good.”  But by 18 months old, the baby gives the mother the broccoli, recognising that what they like is different to what the mother likes.

One of the conclusions of this was that the Terrible Twos, as they are known, are really just part of the process of the baby learning that what they want is different to what others might want, and figuring out what the boundaries are.

Fascinating, I thought, pleased that we learn this so young, so that when we are adults we are more tolerant.  I thought of Mel’s discussion about the different foods we like, and how I was amused that one of her favourite foods was one of my husband’s (and my late father’s) most hated foods (cucumber if you’re wondering).  My husband and I have different tastes in food, books, and music.  We accept those differences – although I might complain that I don’t get to eat pasta as much as I would like to.  But then I stopped myself.  There are times when I will say “I don’t understand why someone likes xxx, yyy or zzz.”  So maybe I’m not quite as tolerant as I thought.  There is no doubt though, that - like an 18 month old -  I am able to recognise that other people like something I don’t.  I just can’t see the appeal of it.  Others however (people not nearly as enlightened!!) don’t separate their dislike of something with their understanding that we all have different tastes.  My mother-in-law for example refuses to admit that she has different tastes to one of her daughters-in-law.  She talks about V’s “ugly” paintings or purchases (I’m sure she says the same things to V about my tastes) , and bristles if I suggest that they are not, in fact, ugly, but are just not her taste.  She almost has a hernia when we talk about someone coming in and remodelling her house.  She simply cannot understand – and refuses to understand - that anyone would not like the same things she does.  I think we all probably know plenty of people like this.

So whilst we might learn this lesson in principle as early as 18 months old, we don’t always apply it.  Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that we are at times simply unable to apply it emotionally.  And so when other people struggle to accept our lifestyle – that we have “chosen” to live without children – and try to convince us to do IVF/continue treatments/foster/adopt, what they’re really doing is reverting to the mentality of a 14 month old.  They want us to eat the biscuit, when we have embraced the idea of loving the broccoli.

Savouring the moment

My husband celebrated his birthday on the weekend.  Since we married many many moons ago, we have always done something special on our birthdays and anniversaries, and the only times we haven’t have been if a) we’ve been ill, or b) on a flight somewhere exciting.

So I booked a fancy restaurant, one we’ve been to before but haven’t visited for ... um ... too many years to remember.  (We’re guessing at least seven.)  We went on Saturday night, keen to avoid the Sunday night Mother’s Day Brigade on his actual birthday.  Saturday nights is their degustation night.  I booked the six course menu, as the nine course seemed just too much.

We got dressed up, took a taxi (so as not to be tempted to drive home after too much alcohol), and ordered a glass of champagne on arrival.  The restaurant is in an old Bank building, with ceilings double height, large Greek Corinthian columns surrounding the main room, and a grand bar; suitably luxurious surroundings to make my husband feel special.  The service was impeccable, as was the food, and matched wines.  A tiny serving of crab on a transparently-thin wafer whet our appetites (and not included in the six courses) and then, over the next two and a half hours, we savoured salmon with horseradish cream, paua ravioli, venison with beetroot risotto, rack of lamb with pea gnocchi, a divine divine brie with a fig compote (almost our favourite course), and a selection of chocolate desserts with peanut butter ice-cream.  Fortunately the servings were small enough that we didn’t feel stuffed, and the matched wines included half glasses as well as full glasses, so we were able to stand without wobbling at the end of the meal.  The price was what we expected, but we got a discount by using a gold card for an entertainment club, so we felt as if we’d had a bargain.

We didn’t have to rush home on a deadline to baby-sitters, or to tip-toe into the house scared we'd wake the kids.  We could sleep in on Sunday morning, knowing we didn’t have to rise early for young children, or to ferry older children to sports activities.  We didn’t have to save the money for school fees, or a child’s birthday present, or music lessons.  We simply enjoyed an evening, and celebrated our relationship.

What about the men?

I got a few comments on my Huff Post piece saying “what about the men?”  They ran rather sarcastically along the lines of “men don’t count, only women’s feelings count, everyone forgets the man” etc etc.  And I guess, if you’re coming into either my blog or read that article, you might think that.  I mean, I rarely talk about my husband on-line.  I don’t do it on A Separate Life, I don’t do it on Facebook, and I don’t do it here.  Even when he is mentioned, he’s “my husband” or simply “him/he.”

The thing is, it was my choice to go on-line to talk about my life, not his.  He struggles to even read my blogs.  He’s only on Facebook so he can see photos of relatives, he doesn’t even know what a status update is, and he can’t imagine anything worse than writing for fun!  He’s been selectively private about our infertility.  (He hasn’t discussed it with his family, but he has discussed it with a friend of his who has gone through infertility.)  And of course, his experience with infertility has been different to mine.  He’s watched me go through extremes during our marriage – initially very pro-contraception, right through to the cycle charting, the IVF injecting, and the thoughts of adoption or using donor eggs.  He’s watched me go through physical risk and emotional turmoil, at the same time coping with his own emotions of loss.  That’s his experience of infertility, and whilst I think I understand it somewhat, I know I don’t understand it 100%.   

His experience of infertility, and indeed his experience of living with no kids, is his experience, not mine.  I respect that.  I know that it is his story, not mine.  And I know that his story is not my story to write.  

The neverending Mother's Day

Mother’s Day can be torture to infertile women.  We all know that.  Mother’s Day torture lasts weeks, it's not just a day.  It lasts from the moments the first advertisements (commercials) appear in the newspapers and on TV, or flash at us unexpectedly on websites, and builds up in intensity to the day itself.  For those earlier in the process, this really can be torture.  Even those of us who have had years to come to terms with our non-mother status can’t help but - in between the shrugs of feigned indifference - feel the odd twinges of pain. 

This year Mother’s Day coincided with my husband’s birthday.  We went out the night before for a posh dinner at a beautiful restaurant in a stunning old bank building, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.  But on the day itself, we felt kind of lost.  We’d have liked to go out to our favourite brunch place.  We go about every second week, and it had been two weeks since we last visited.  We usually turn up to the children-not-encouraged restaurant about 1 pm, chat and laugh with the lovely guys who run the place, and have a relaxed and delicious light lunch.  It would have been the perfect mid-day treat for my husband, as we had nothing planned all day except to head out to visit his mother that evening.  But even now, after all these years, we looked at each other, pictured the restaurant full of happy families feting their mothers, and said “no.”  I thought I might be ready to face a restaurant at lunch on Mother’s Day.  But apparently I’m not.  Maybe next year.

So I got up this morning (Monday here in NZ), worked out, visited another favourite place for coffee (and it was such bad weather there wasn’t a mother with child in sight), and felt free.  M’s Day over for another year.  But I forgot didn’t I?  I forgot about the time zone, where it is still Mother’s Day in the US.  So Facebook (I have a lot of friends from the US) had a number of self-congratulations, and of course the blogs I read were all posting about it too (although many with beautiful sentiments well worth a read).  And wryly, I reflected that this year Mother’s Day is taking an awfully long time to end.