Thank you for reading my first post. I am still unsure of how to categorize this site, but I can say that I do talk about infertility and pregnancy after loss. If these topics are upsetting to you, maybe we should give it time before we get to know each other.

Why Can’t Infertility Come With A Roadmap?
It’s bedtime, I’ve been laying here for ours, but I am a long way from sleep. My thoughts are an aimless wanderer who strolls through many different alleys, dead ends, and cul-de-sac that memories have constructed throughout these last 5 years. Nights like this, I envision my mind as suburban sprawl where streets run in every direction. Along my night time journey, I wonder what an outsider would see if they were to look into our bedroom. (I need to be careful here, I don’t want to give Shelby any ammo when she insists that the 3 millimeters of sunlight pouring into our bedroom must be extinguished by the curtains before we embark on “Sexy Time.” Seriously, I think she envisions all our neighbors with high-powered rifle scopes aimed at our bedroom window, but I digress.) Inside our bedroom they would see Shelby, fast asleep. She’s wearing the shirt I wore today, a gray Guitar Hero T-Shirt with a picture of the plastic guitar. It’s almost as if she intentionally placed her hands on her torso and is strumming a few beats.

Her chest slowly rises and falls as she sweetly snores into my ear. I’m lucky, tonight is special. Her snore typically sounds like Darth Vader with asthma and only half a working lung. My two kitties are lying at my feet, spooning each other and keeping my feet warm at the same time. If I hold my breath to listen, Shelby’s snores line up perfectly with my big black cat’s heavy breathing. It sounds like they are squeaking at the same time. I wonder if they are both dreaming about chasing birds.

Things probably look peaceful to the outsider. It should be, but I’m not at peace. Instead of sleeping, I’m flipping through the channels on TV. Man TV sucks at this time. I settle on Adult Swim because any show that is titled “Tim and Eric, Awesome Show, Great Job” has to be, well, freaking awesome, right? As soon as I settle on the show, put the remote control down, I immediately lose focus and turn back inwardly.

Finally it occurs to me what is keeping me up, and it’s no surprise. I find myself walking down “Infertility Alley.” This alley is not new to me, but the scenery changes from time to time. I realize that there are times I live in a completely different world. It can be so much different than the world where you easily conceive. The fact that because of our 5 years of struggle, heartache, treatments and bills has caused such a difference annoys me. Ordinary things are just… not.

I shut the TV off and rub the furry bellies of my kitties. With a small grunt, Willow curls her body onto her back to give me better access. I give Shelby a soft kiss on the forehead and smile at her for a few seconds. She needs her sleep. Her calm, still face is almost deceptive. Her body is working so hard to keep and grow what took 5 years to accomplish. In that moment, a feeling of pride washes over me. She looks soft, peaceful, and incredibly feminine, but I have seen how determined, strong and unwavering she can be. I allow myself to feel an extreme sense of pride. I’m lucky to have her. I lie back down and close my eyes. I begin to reflect on what ordinary, day-to-day things has infertility changed.

This Blog
I have never been able to keep a blog. Eventually, my blog just annoys me at what it has failed to become. It always boiled down to a lack of something to write about. I realize that I simply cannot have an ordinary blog. Infertility takes too much of my soul to simply blog about my daily day. There is too much to say.

Tonight, as I lay in bed, I say my goodbyes to all my blogs that could have been. Goodbye to a common, ordinary blog that is plain, care free and naive.

Tonight, I say hello to a different type of blog. With 5 years of infertility, I find I have plenty to say. I do not know what will become of this blog. It’s too early to classify it as a blog about infertility. What is it about? It’s about my path to becoming a parent. This is my journey though infertility and it’s too early to give that a name.

Tonight, I know this; while I’m new to the blogging community, I am a long time reader. For every blog I have read, every tear I have shared, every joy I have felt, I thank you. You have inspired me. This community is amazing, and its time I give back.

Weekend Hell
Weekends are something I have grown to hate. Before, the only thing I can think about is the weekend. Just being able to relax and regroup prior to the next work week is an amazing treat. Infertility changes that. When we’re waiting for a fertilization report, a beta level, the “ok” to pursue another procedure, a 48 hour weekend might as well be CIA approved water torture. I think few people experience “Weekend Hell” as much as people like me.

Tonight, I mourn for all the lost weekends. For 5 years of our lives waiting for procedures to begin, test results to be analyzed, and all of our days spent mourning a negative test result. 5 years of time not spent doing ordinary things.

Tonight, I say hello, and welcome this new outlet, my blog, which I hope to help give me something to do during Weekend Hell.

Your Friendly Neighborhood HMO
Checking the mail is no longer ordinary. I get the shakes every time we open the mailbox. It’s another infertility related bill, statement, or insurance letter of denial. What normal person gets the shits walking to the mailbox? It’s just not right. Letters from our HMO is always something I dread.

Flash back a few months. I had an appointment at our HMO to get the twig and berries looked at. I will say, since having an ultrasound, I have a extreme appreciation for just how slippery and messy that damn ultrasound gel is. Man, am I glad to have my junk on the outside. It was a quick appointment. Never mind the fact that the nurse at the HMO didn’t even close the door all the way when I’m changing into that sexy gown, or the fact that they didn’t knock when I’m still trying to get my twig and berries decent. My appointment only lasted 15 minutes with the only words being said are “We’ll call you with the results.”

Ok, back to present. My HMO never called., though they were kind enough send a letter which I am now retrieving from my mailbox of unordinary mail. It must have taken them a long time to craft this template letter. “Mr. S. Thank you for giving the nurses the opportunity to fondle your junk. We would like to complement you on how impressive it is and require you to fill out this form and sign it in order to release your measurements to the Guinness Book of World Records. Oh, by the way, we regret to inform you that we’re just not sure what is going on with your conception issues. We can’t really help you, but our cousin’s step dad’s uncle should be able to help you. By the way, he’s out of network” Okay, maybe they didn’t say that first part, but they definitely said the latter. I felt real good about how this infertility process was proceeding when I got zero communication, no diagnosis, and a form letter. How can mail such as this be ordinary?

Me and You, and You and Me
My relationship with friends, strangers, parents, co-workers, and anyone in between will never be ordinary. This topic deserves its own blog post, but when a stranger tells me “What’s the matter with you, give her a child. Don’t you love her?” when they have found out I have not fathered any children, is not a conversation an ordinary person would have. Never mind that that person is not normal under any measurement.

I’m not ordinary. I’ve been through too much, felt too much, and simply have become a different person than the one I knew 5 years ago. In most ways, I’m better for it. My relationship with Shelby is better for it and for that, I am grateful. When I think of Shelby, I know that we’re perfect for each other. Neither of us is ordinary, we’re better than that. Some may even consider us two peas in a pod; it’s just that we’re waiting for our pod.

Welcome to “Two Peas and Waiting For Our Pod.”