What To Expect When You're Not Expecting

I can't say that I ever officially decided to have children - I as in my conscious decision-making self making a choice. I was quite unsure until my thirties if it would be a good idea for me at all. I presume what happened after the glorious age of 30 was that my primate brain did something to me. The cliché of the loud ticking noise, I suddenly began to hear it. First unobtrusively, then, all the time. The tinnitus I got from this must have smashed the insubordinate parts of my brain, the ones that used to yawn whenever I got the feeling I had to do something or to be a part of something, to fit some kind of stereotype. I never exactly knew how to behave around children. I was not relaxed being around them, still am not, at times. Yet it happened one day, when I saw a mother lovingly with her child in her arms, that I noticeably gasped for air. It felt liked suffocation. I wouldn't define the feeling as wanting something. I realized I didn't as much want one, as I needed a child. For my sanity. For my primate brain. This post is not a guide. This is about how I tried to remain sane during the long years of not having one, but needing a child, and badly so. In hindsight, I merely partially succeeded.


Let me think. No. Let's say you've already found out you want a child and you're working hard towards that goal. You've tried for a while and it didn't work out. Or maybe it worked, but then it didn't. What do you do to pass the time until it does? I've had three strikes in five years. Unfortunately none of them made it through the first trimester. Starting fresh after a miscarriage was hard each time. You're losing confidence in your body. You're getting super obsessive about every little circumstance that may or may not be responsible for you not getting pregnant. First of all, you have to accept, that certain things are simply out of your hands. Think positive if you can muster up the strength, but if you can't, don't feel bad for being angry. It is frustrating. It makes you crazy. Babies is probably all you can think about. If all you can think about is what you can't have, that is one very sad mental spiral to be in. It may seem as far out of reach to you as sitting on a rusty bike and dreaming about a Porsche. And then again, it may just be around the corner. Your body is torturous. Biology is a bitch. You know.

<< Don't put your life on hold This is important. You can't stop everything else, because you want a child. If you live as though you were pregnant to become pregnant, you're not doing yourself any favors. Eating raw fish, cheese, or drinking coffee or a glass of wine, lifting stuff, it's all allowed. Yes, you may blame yourself if it doesn't work out at the end of a cycle. You will do that no matter what you do, what you eat, if you did or didn't do sports, if you ate or didn't eat certain foods. I wrecked my brain each time I miscarried or didn't conceive for what I might have done wrong. The list is incredibly long when you're looking for something that can't be found. It's not that third cup of coffee. The most likely thing is that it didn't work out for a myriad of reasons. None of them are in your control. Nothing you do will guarantee the right circumstances. What did I do right when it finally happened? Nothing. Everything. I ate whatever I craved for, chocolate, mainly. I drank lots of coffee. I was too lazy to work out, and around conception time, I read a really boring fantasy book. Find the answer anywhere in there? If there is one, it says, try to mentally detach yourself from the biology behind getting pregnant. You can't finetune the incubator. Trust it, for it knows best.


<< Create your own voodoo You feel like you need to do something. Yes. Doing something seems to put people in an exceptionally positive mood. Treat your body like a temple. Imagine you're a fertile riverbed or whatever. Be aware that voodoo is voodoo. There is no medicinal value in dancing around a totem pole except the one you create in your head - placebo the hell out of it! Your state of mind is important. Placebo is your friend. Go massage your stomach with your left hand. Bath in mud. Stick needles in your chi, feng shui your bedroom. It's all good and healthy as long as it makes you feel good and there is no real chemistry involved. Stay away from strong substances. Let the doctors handle strong substances. You go to your happy place and relax.


<< Be aware of hormones There's one tiny little piece of chemistry you need to be aware of: progesterone. Especially if you have passed the presumably best childbearing age of 20. Progesterone can have influence on the actual occurrence and continuation of a pregnancy. If you're having trouble conceiving or sustaining a pregnancy over a period of time, go see a doctor. Let them monitor progesterone and hormone levels throughout your trial runs. It will help you figure out a possible deficiency and help you fix it. I took progesterone during my last (successful) trial. It may have helped. I took it some time earlier that year and it didn't. No guarantees, but chances are, it will more likely help than hurt your efforts.


<< Don't be mean to your partner (unless he or she is responsible - then, go ahead and nag him or her endlessly about it) Kidding, of course! It's so hard to stay rational. I've tried to explain this to men several times. Being theoretically able to father children until they drop, they don't seem to fully grasp the pressure-filled window we're in. It can put a serious strain on relationships when fertility is an issue. Fertility. Even the word sounds discriminatory. Whatever you do, try to hold on to the big picture. Testicles are not baby juice jars. A man is not just a donor, a woman is not an oven. Don't reduce people to their baby-making qualities. I know it sounds like a d'oh sort of thing to say, but it can be hard when you're on emotional edge. What you should think and talk about are possible consequences. Talk much. You need to be able to talk about your options. How much do you want children? More than you want to be with your partner? Think about it, and without being resentful or fearful, just play it through in your mind. Can you imagine alternative scenarios? Then think about it some more. The important and excruciating part is to not guilt your partner into staying the childless course if the problem is on your end. It's scary to think that way, but you need to do it for the sake of your relationship.


<< Cuddle your inner child

Be kind to yourself. You're of worth, you are or were at some point someone's child. What you do and how you feel is important. Find an outlet for your frustration. Do things you want to do, things you know you couldn't do with a child. Travel the world, take that crazy job offer in Helsinki. We're all just finding ways to pass the time. Having a child means passing over time to someone else entirely. You will stay the center of your own life if you don't have a child. There's an upside to that way of existing. People say that having children is the most important thing in life. I know it has changed a whole lot for me, and opened my eyes to another perspective entirely. I have never felt such love for anyone or anything in the world. It's unbearable at times. But in a larger sense, it's not that important for the world if I do or do not have children, at least not as much as it is for myself. I find that caring for someone, for a partner or a pet can do that also. My cats were my babies long before I knew my son. It doesn't matter that they never needed me as much as he does at the moment. Cats are self-sufficient beings. My son will be self-sufficient as well at some point. The transition will be painful, but I care for them either way. Cleaning the cat toilet or cleaning a diaper. One's a little less messy than the other, but in the end, it's all coming out of the same area. Poop, everywhere! Doesn't matter whose. It's all love. Good old sappy love.

So...happy!

Remember good old me; me whining, me complaining? In fact - I'm known for that - with whiny rant being my street name and all that. That's a big part of this blog, ranting, finding some kind of fault in many of the things regarding..well, all things. It's as vague as that. I guess you could call it "judgmental". So what happened? In short: I don't find fault in things anymore. I have been walking around in a haze of awwww! Pretty scary. Could it be as simple as squeezing out life, giving birth to another human being?

Yes, I guess it could. I must have shed some of the bad stuff as well as baby and baby juice. Awwww! (Ok, I at least manage to make fun of me.) So, dear audience, what is more annoying - someone who complains or a happy, mildly besotted person who smiles a little more often and lets go some of the stuff that would have bothered her before. Please don't answer - rhetorical question!

There is an undeniable creativity in being mildly angry at the world. Finding quirk to all things is an original activity, like you wouldn't believe the calories being burnt that way and the satisfactory feeling you get by being able to do this without having to do squat thrusts. Well, for now, goodbye soul-eating quirk. Not sure that I liked you all that much to begin with. Say hello to silly momma, your bundle of joy. Still some kind of edge, but more fuzzy and covered in chocolate.

This change must be a residue, caused by some of the hormones, right? It must wear off at some point. Because I didn't just have brain surgery. And I can't remember having suffered any other kind of other head trauma. I'm not eating differently. I'm not even doing anything differently except for the additional baby routine. Sleeping less, well, yes, there's stupid in that. Other than that, nothing. Nothing but contentment and not a single cloud in sight.

I guess the demons of the world must be assembling rrrrright now..

A Myriad of Farts, Pay and Perks

Wow, this is exciting, maybe one of the most exciting things that ever happened to me - becoming a parent. Before Junis entered this world I was aware in somewhat vague terms that the birth of a child would supposedly turn one's life upside down. But to what extent - I had no idea. Starting with the process of giving birth. What a horrible piece of train wreck biology! It must be one of the most flawed things in all of nature. Yes, there are several drugs to make it bearable, but still, it's no pony ride - unless those ponies were sent from hell. I'm still in recovery and except for the permanent psychological trauma, I'm expecting to be back to my old self until the end of this year.

Anyways, with the delivery slogged out, the fun part starts - which entails tending to the needs of our baby boy. It's an adjustment, for a lack of sleep and a wild cocktail of hormones keep rocking my body. I'm getting used to it, and all the other things that have become more important now than pretty much everything I used to take for granted before - like personal hygiene or writing blog posts. These new priorities revolve around baby's well-being; his feeding schedule, my breasts, anti-colic bottles, strollers, burps and digestion, vaccination, and my breasts. I did mention my breasts twice, because of their significance in the baby equation. I'm sure I'm forgetting 3000 other things, but at least half of them do also have to do with my breasts. It doesn't matter, as there will be a few hundred new ones with each new week.

The baffling thing about all of this change: it is the ultimate happy drug. Having baby is a pleasure, even grumpy, moody and sometimes whiny baby is a joy to be around with. Knowing it's suddenly there when it wasn't a few months earlier is mind-boggling, and it even makes mundane things, like driving a car or going grocery shopping more fun.

Chillin' at the doctor's lounge

Suddenly I know there is a purpose in me doing these chores. Over the last few years, the excitement of self-preservation has slightly worn off. Yes, my own survival has always been important to me. But now it's even more important for me to stay alive. Baby needs me and my breasts (amongst other things, but mainly those two). It's a bit daunting to be needed that much, but it's also somewhat flattering.

Another thing I have been thinking about is how community pays court to parents, and especially mothers. There is this club you suddenly belong to. Gift bags get sent to you by the local council, banks are eating humble pie just so you open an account. Even the local tax office welcomed baby with bureaucratically open arms. It seems like women are given premiums for having their vaginas shredded. And then there's tax breaks, pay and perks, getting treated like royalty, just as if we have done something extraordinarily. It is a life-changer for us parents, yes, but what do the authorities have to gain? Another tax payer I guess, and possibly a potentially hardworking bee.

I'm still amazed at how I survived the delivery. But as to the act of conception, and to quote Bill Maher: it's something a dog can do. Well dogs can and they do do it, but not all humans can or want to do it. For most of us thirty-somethings, the act of procreation is not left up to chance. We're not completely surprised when that strip turns pink - as we know we doinked that month. It's good we have an awareness about it and a choice to do or not to do it, unlike our mothers and grandmothers. Yet, having belonged to the other, "less glamorous" club of childless couples for quite a while, I feel a teensy bit uncomfortable about the fact that we're rewarded for one and not the other.

Motherhood's Kicking in!

I was wondering about this for a while now, ever since the moment the other little strip turned a faint shade of pink. Surprise! The idea of pregnancy wasn't something my mind could fully grasp, the consequences being too extensive to even imagine a world beyond ginormous belly.
Sentenced to 9 months to life!

The first 12 weeks of any pregnancy are known to be shaky, a fearful stretch of hit-or-miss, and to be completely honest, I had no reason to believe it would stick this time. It tried to pay as little attention to it as possible plowing through NaNoWriMo. And it stuck. Now that it's past half-time and actual proof is hitting me from within with violent little earthquakes, I'm still having trouble believing it.

Thoughts like is that belly that has long begun to cast a shadow really a baby or did I just let myself go over the winter? Are these strange bursts I'm feeling coming from my intestines after all? Are these kicks telling me that my bowels are in trouble, do I have some kind of abdominal epilepsy?

I don't know whether it'll ever start to feel real in a way that will allow me to fully commit to the idea of having a child before it's factually there.

To go out there and buy stuff for the nursery, because I am certain it's going to happen. No way. I will give birth to a human being. Seriously!? I can tell myself that over and over. I'm two people now, one of them living inside the other. Get that: one of them is not a woman... Still not quite sure if it's me after all?! Him? There's going to be a him? Maybe I'm just fat and schizoid!

I feel motherly towards my cats, and even more so than towards children. I have never been needed by a child. I think we're biologically prone to like whomever we're responsible for. (Or what we've tamed, in the words of The Little Prince)

I'll have a lifetime to make horrible mistakes once it's in the world. I'm sure I'll never feel like I'm doing a good job, or that I'll be making the right choices; living up to some absurd standard of parenting that I don't even know I'll have. That's just how I am in life. Let's hope the mistakes I'll make will be glorious ones, and my shortcomings will make me smile rather than want to make me beat myself up.

Also I'm not sure I'm ready to accept that once I'm a parent, a part of my life will be in freeze mode, the parental stage of preservation. Worrying and caring override any impulse to run for your life and join a cult in search of self-fulfillment. Parents are a different species. Biology forces them to zone in on a tiny piece of life other than themselves  - at least for a little while. Some people go nuts, others blossom in new-found meaningfulness, and others yet again see their children as some kind of investment opportunity.

The only thing I ask is that you, lovely baby, will not make me stupid..at least be kind enough to merely put my brain on ice. Don't eat it. I'm not ready to give it up for good...

June. Not too far away. Still some time to get acquainted. If not with baby, then at least with the concept of change. If that's ever possible before it is thrown upon us. Bloody hell!

Cell Lineage: In Rememberance of What I've Lost

The thing Wikipedia so lovingly calls Microchimerism is a beautiful concept. It implies that a woman's loss is not solely a loss, as research has shown that fetal cells transfer to a mother during pregnancy and remain there for decades. And what's surprising is that even if a pregnancy doesn't come full term, those fetal cells remain in the mother's body. Women may have long lost a child, and still carry a memento of it within themselves, in my case, it's even more than one blueprint. What exactly these cells do, and how they affect the mother's body is largely unknown. Autoimmune reactions like Graft-versus-host as in bone marrow transplants are discussed as a consequence, in which the host's body cells are attacked; another, more positive theory is that feto-maternal cells act as rejuvenating stem agents, said to support healing processes. It's possible they do nothing but innocently stand by and mind their own business.

In any way, I have never thought about my past miscarriages as anything but painful events that cruelly display the finality of mother nature. Since statistically most of them happen for genetic reasons, I can't even get mad at mother nature for screwing with me and my hopes and dreams. Each time I hoped to pass the maternal inspection, and failed within the first trimester. Until now.

Luckily, this current one has passed that stage and is well on its way to be living proof of cell lineage in my body. And although I couldn't be happier, I'm thinking about those past losses quite regularly. Not that I miss those fetuses, as I wouldn't know how to miss the raw potential of lives I haven't gotten to know, but dealing with loss is never easy. I don't know if the comparison is particularly suitable, but when I lost my very first cell phone several years ago, I didn't know exactly why and where, or how it happened. I just saw that it was gone after the fact, and since large amounts of alcohol were involved that evening, retracing my steps seemed impossible. After the realization had sunk in, I didn't even know where to look for it. Not knowing haunted me. In nature as in pregnancy, the reasons for hit-and-miss may be conceivable to the initiators, (as to the thief who potentially took my cell, or mother nature, who potentially took the fetus) but they are never as clear to us humans, potential mothers - or cell phone users.

Hearing about Microchimerism propitiates me, as it sheds new light on the concept of existence, thus proving me wrong. In nature nothing is ever final. Existence is a definite state, like the number 1 opposed to 0, and it means that if there once is something, there will always be something else. Something can never have nothing as a consequence. Once we get used to the concept of transformation, remnants of life can be seen everywhere, for everything that exists once existed, even if the cause for it may have long disappeared to the naked human eye. Since everything always leads to something else, there is no such thing as true loss.

Those fetal cells, albeit detached and altered as compared to their initial configuration, are alive in my body, same as my old cell phone may exist on a pile of trash somewhere in Ghana; not alive, but present, somewhere. It may be a small consolation to anyone who has lost something, or someone close to their heart, but it is comforting to know, that although things and beings are in a state of flux, some part of them remains - in some form or another.

Can't wait to get to know the little guy - or girl!

Me Minus One

Hospital of Horrors..

Hey there world, I'm back - at least I think I am! This last Monday has been filled with anxious hours of waiting in the hospital while wearing one of those flattering gowns... white and green, low-backed... a dream!

On Monday, somewhere around 9 pm the nerve-wracking part was over. I needed to have surgery, a procedure called a Curettage and it meant that everything inside my uterus had to be completely scraped out.

Prior that day, my gynecologist had told me that the fetus was underdeveloped and basically already disconnected from my body, so there was nothing else left to do than to get it out of me as quickly as possible. It was strange to hear this news, especially since I didn't experience any symptoms of an early abort. There was nothing. I felt really good. A total of 11 weeks of being pregnant. Unfortunately, it went downhill from that moment onwards.


Brain, Help!

I always think that in a moment of crisis, I just have to listen to the rational side of my brain (since the other half laments incoherently for the most part anyways) and everything will turn out to be fine. I tried to talk myself into calming down for almost 7 hours, while I was lying there, waiting for the moment the doctors would scrape the fetus out of my body.

I told myself, that this shrimp-like thing wasn't alive to begin with, that it hadn't shown any sign of life except for the first few weeks when it had still grown. But it didn't even approach the stage of a definite heartbeat.

So it is comparable to cancer, I reasoned with myself, a cluster of cells that has to be removed.

And yet, I was terrified at the thought of having it removed. I ask you, do you know any cancer patient who is afraid of getting rid of his tumor? I don't! But for me, it meant the official end of my pregnancy. And I loathed that thought more than I was afraid of the surgery.


Status: Lonely and a Little Sad

It's basically true even now, that the fact that really makes me sad is the circumstance of me not being pregnant anymore. It was the happiest condition you can imagine to be in. I can recommend it to anyone, and I can wholeheartedly say this in spite of the possible risks I experienced firsthand. I want to talk about this openly, since I don't feel I have anything to hide.

I don't want to be a dark figure, disguising the statistics of mishap. And I don't assess this event as some sort of personal failure. I have to say that I despise this societal trend to conceal those sorts of experiences in one's personal curriculum vitae. I don't think that only good news are news-worthy. But unfortunately, there are no Dislike-Buttons, only sad smileys to cope with pain. So, there you go. :(

I feel comfortable to tell everybody that I am sad about my loss. I don't need to hear that it is not my fault. It's some sort of delusion to think that we have anything to say in these biological processes anyway. Except for the odds thrown into the game by me being 31 years old, I can't do anything to affect the outcome.

I know the risks. They remain unchanged for now and worsen with age. Still, I will try it again. And I'm confident it will work out some day.