DEAD BIRD – NOW FOR THE DEAD HORSE

After drafting what feels like a dozen posts (OK, just 7) about that fun topic secondary infertility with all kinds of emotionally charged nonsense and lame attempts at woe-is-me blithering, I’m instead going to share a couple of my blogging observations…and then the blithering.

  • The majority of primary infertility (PIF) blogs I began reading in 2005 did finally become pregnancy, and even parenting, blogs.
  • Ironically, most of them went from PIF to oh-my-god-I’m-pregnant-with-baby-number-two-and-junior-isn’t-even-one-yet blogs.
  • Of the minority that did not, and are still blogging, they are now blogging about how they finally now “get” what shit secondary infertility is.
  • Of those not still blogging after having their first baby, I’ve received a smattering of emails telling me they finally “get” what shit secondary infertility is.
  • Bloggers who are blogging through PIF, and who even occasionally stop by – or use to –occasionally let it slip that SIF isn’t infertility at all.

I encountered the latter attitude in small doses when I started blogging four years ago. There was probably way more, but I made sure to surround myself with either those who were going through SIF or who made a genuine attempt to understand what we were going through.

But what happens when someone you hold in high regards – and have for over two years – and is going through PIF, and told you that they felt that many of the emotions and experiences you were going through were so similar to theirs that they realized that the “secondary” was for the most part, irrelevant, and could appreciate that SIF pretty much sucks, too; but then they end up posting something that basically scoffs the idea that anyone who has one child could even be infertile??

Well that’s what happened over a month ago and it’s been eating at me ever since. I left a very diplomatic comment (me?? I know!) about it and I was surprised I didn’t get a response. One could say in their defense that maybe they didn’t notice (this blogger is rather popular and had a bunch of comments on the post which wasn’t actually about SIF or PIF at all), and basically that’s what I thought so I went back to the post to reread it, to see if I had misunderstood, or maybe to find a reply via comments – you know, like I do – and the post had been edited to remove the reference that inspired this post.

I guess that’s why it’s taken me so long to write AND publish a post since it has no real point, no real reference and serves no purpose whatsoever except allow me to gripe about a blog, because according to some people I do happen “to enjoy it a bit too much.”

And here this paragraph starts 24 hours later than the prior paragraphs and I wonder all over again why is it I’m upset by this? My pain is my pain; your pain is your pain; why don’t we call the whole thing off…

Yes, there are different degrees to infertility, and it only really becomes relative when we read about how our situation is somehow minimized. If I said that you’re not really infertile if you can get pregnant on your first cycle of clomid, then any one of you that did get pregnant on your first cycle of clomid would take offense – or at least you should, because YOU owned that experience and pain, I didn’t. I have no idea what toll that took on you emotionally. I shouldn’t judge, but it’s seriously hard not to, if next to impossible for me. However, if nothing else, I know what infertility was…AND IS. It shouldn’t matter if I have one or five kids. I’ve cried more over the past four years than I have in all the years leading up to it, so yeah, I get a little pissy when I think someone might be making light of SIF.

Infertility scarred me very deeply and left an enormous swath of bitterness that I really want to heal. I get close. I tell myself that I don’t have to be miserable or defensive anymore. I don’t have to read infertility blogs anymore. I don’t have to blog anymore. So why do I?

I have so many things here to say and I’m running out of time and energy to say them. I don’t care about standing on the soap box as much as I use to. I give it a try occasionally (like with this post), and once I step up on it, the view is not as good as it use to be and the wood is soft and creaky from being left outside in the rain, and those willing to listen are there for the free punch.

*end metaphor*

**end blithering**

***end post***

ODD DISCOVERY

Our rabbit, Potter, lives in a large cage – a rabbit run, if you will – and has a covered hutch inside of it that he sleeps in. Every couple of days (or once a week if you are me), the hutch needs to be cleaned out since it doubles as his outhouse.

The other day, I made an unpleasant and very odd discovery when I lifted the lid off his hutch.

On top of the straw, just inside the little doorway, was a dead baby bird.

Granted, above the cage, there is a robin’s nest, so you can easily deduce where the bird came from. For whatever reason, it had fallen out of the nest and into the rabbit’s cage. It would have easily dropped through the wire on top but was prevented from falling through to the ground by the much smaller spaced wiring used on the floor of the cage.

But that’s where it gets odd. You see, the baby bird had fallen inside of the cage. There’s no way it could have fallen into the hutch because it has a lid on it, and the cage’s lid is positioned over that. The baby bird, if it had been alive when it had fallen, also could not have crawled its way into the hutch because there’s a lip on the doorway that keeps the bedding inside the hutch. The only logical explanation for how the baby bird ended up inside the hutch is that Potter had carried it into the hutch.

I would like to believe that Potter found the distressed baby bird and some kind of instinct prompted him to take it inside his hutch to keep it safe. It’s unlikely, but heck, you never know. It wasn’t because Potter had decided to try a miniaturized version of roast duck, either, because the baby bird’s tiny body showed no outward sign of injury in the way of bites or scratches.

To me, it was a bit of a sad discovery, and really pretty irrelevant, but thought I’d share it with you anyway.

BEAUTIFUL BUT BRAINLESS

mattMatthew, Matthew, Mathew *shaking my head in disappointment*

You are one f-i-n-elooking specimen, but seriously? You. Is. Stoopid.

…And as anyone who’s lost a parent can tell you, when a loved one like that ‘moves on’ – after grieving, one looks for some inspiration from the loss, some lesson to learn, something constructive to take through life in their absence.”

He continued, “For me, it was a few words, that became a sort of a personal mission statement: j.k livin. Where the j is for just, the k is for keep, and there’s no g on livin’, because life is a verb.”

“…there’s no g on livin’, because life is a verb.”

What does that even mean??!

Hey, eyes over here. No matter how hard you stare, the cropped area of that picture is not going to drop.

Whatever you do, Matt, do not stop working out, and maybe, juuuuust maybe, you might want to take a break from the ol’ wacky weed.

meganAnd speaking of having gorgeous genes but limited brain function, I almost gave myself a seizure rolling my eyes after reading this about Megan Fox:

She’s quite happy to discuss drugs, sex and even flatulence but take this example of her discussing her ‘Brian’ tattoo – dedicated to on/off boyfriend Brian Austin Green.

She said: ‘I wouldn’t regret the tattoo if we weren’t together. I can always have a kid and name him Brian. There are options.’

Megan, where were you after Angelina and Billy Bob broke up??! What a brilliant suggestion! I like the way you think. *winking and tapping finger to forehead*

J&K

A final quote from an article on People.com on the latest divorce fiasco with Jon and Kate:

The couple said they would keep the Pennsylvania house they share with their kids – twins Cara and Mady and sextuplets Colin, Hannah, Leah, Joel, Aaden and Alexis – and take turns living there, and take any other measures necessary to minimize the disruption in their children’s lives.

“…take any other measures necessary to minimize the disruption in their children’s lives.”

I’m just guessing here, but I’ll bet that does not include cutting back on their show’s production. Do Jon and Kate really not know who Danny Bonaducci is? That is what the future holds for all eight of those kids.

What a couple of hypocritical narcissists.

AND THEN

I made tentative plans to go to BlogHer in Chicago this year. For those of you that have been living under a rock, it’s in one month exactly – July 23-25.

I booked the hotel; shopped for flights; forced myself onto a handful of other bloggers before finding one who took pity on me and agreed to allow me to shack up; and researched blogger card designs. Oh, yes, I was falling into the BlogHer line and getting pretty damn excited about it. It was to be my vacation, the first one in three long, arid years.

And then I lost my job to the body and soul snatching hospital, Faithless.

My husband said I should still go. We would make do, but out of guilt, I put any further plans on hold, hoping things would normalize.

And then my FIL got a wild-hair up his ass and made plans to visit his brothers in New England. My husband would have to be his chaperone/nurse maid. Guess what weekend they chose?

So I turned over my reserved hotel room where the convention was being held, to Aurelia. Apologized profusely to her for leaving her high and dry and sleeping solo. Fate was telling me, “DD? You and BlogHer weren’t meant to be this year.” Like the past three years, actually.

And then my FIL had surgery on his leg. His obesity and failure to follow the doctor’s instructions lead to complications, including a nasty viral infection. My husband, who also started making tentative plans for that weekend, doubted that he’d be making the trip. FIL insisted: yes, dammit, we are still going!

And then!…one of FIL’s brothers ended up with his own scheduling conflict. The weekend of the 25th was officially OFF the table. The announcement came this past weekend.

And THEN???

Oh, hell, I don’t know. Shit. You fill in the blank. I just don’t have the energy.

TWELVE

Scan5_0005_005Yes, this was me. 12 years ago today. Yes, this was intentional. If you knew how thin and fine my hair is, you’d realize that this is nothing short of a godalmighty miracle, getting my hair to look like a lion’s mane.

It also ended up in a the much quieter and simplier updo for our wedding a few hours later. You can refer to the past posts regarding my wedding here, and here, and of course, here.

Some of you have known me for almost four years now. Some of you are new here. How ever long you’ve known  me, you certainly can appreciate the patience and love and ultimately, the thick skin, it takes to put up with me every day, all day, for not just the twelve years of marriage, but the additional five years it took for me to get him down the alter.

Especially when there are days I wake up looking like that, WITHOUT the help of professional.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. DD. I love you more than ever.