on boys and makeup

A boy likes me!

After coffee on Tuesday S and I emailed and texted and then, out of the blue, he suggested an additional dinner date for Saturday night. A re-boot of the one my chest infection scuppered: drinks then dinner at his favourite French restaurant. I readily agreed and so 'twas so. And it was lovely.  One moment we were enjoying a glass of Pimms and the next instant it was five hours later and he was flagging me down a cab.

Yesterday we took books and a blanket to my local park, from where you can see all London laid out below, and just talked until another five hours had vanished and it was time to walk back down the hill for pizza.

We had The Conversation. Not, as it is in fertile world, about where-is-this-relationship-going.  No, we had this community's conversation about children. S had, on his profile, ticked "maybe" for "want children". I suspected that he'd said that more so that any potential woman who already has children wouldn't just click away from his page.  But I had to be sure and told him that kids are something I couldn't bring. I know that 4 dates in is pretty early to have this conversation but I didn't want to waste his time. Or, truth be told, find myself really liking him only to break up once he knew. And it turns out that he's never felt an overwhelming desire to have children but would have been open to building a family "with the right woman".

Gentle reader, I am officially dating someone. I'm still keeping this quiet IRL, until it goes from "dating" to "a relationship" but I am really rather happy :)

P.S. I lied - there's no talk about makeup

There have been a couple of great blog posts this week about comments that those of us going through infertility, and those of us who are living without children, face.  You can read them here on Mali's blog and here on Life Without Baby.

It does get easier to bear, with the passage of time, although I still aspire to point three on Mali's list, and I now am able to bat the "why don't/didn't you just adopt" with "why didn't/don't you?"  As these comments are always made by people I know well enough, I know I'm not committing my own thoughtless blunder.

However, last week I was completely blindsided by this comment, from someone I had just met that evening (a stay-at-home mother of two): "so what are you going to do to contribute to society, then?"

I was too taken aback by this to answer and stepped away from the conversation saying that was sorry but I just had to go and talk to so-and-so before they left.

What I wish I had had the presence of mind to say was that I contribute fine to society, thank you.  I have a job in medical research which enables me to pay tax - which in turn enabled her to have two lots of year-long maternity leave and now gives her children child benefit, free schooling, free library services, free travel on London Transport until age 14 and a host of other taxpayer funded services. And I'm doing this without any quid pro quo as I will never claim any of the above list for my own children.   (I also pay National Insurance which gives her and her children free health care, but of course this I also use myself!).

What would you have said?

weekend double whammy

Some friends of mine have invited me to lunch on Saturday.  It's a sort of house-warming+his 45th birthday combined event.  Three married couples and single me.

And on Sunday I have a Big Family Do where cousins with children, pregnant cousins and bursting with pride grandparents will abound.  Because I have to drive there (I'm taking three desserts) I won't be able to have a glass of wine to take the edge off.

Meh.

isn't it ironic

I was aged ten-and-a-half when I got my first period and thereafter had one of those perfect, light, mild discomfort only 28-day cycles you read about until I was 14.
Then it was still a regular 28-day cycle but not so much with the light or mild discomfort.  They were so heavy I became anaemic, and so painful I sometimes had to miss school and spend my days worshipping at the porcelain altar.
Then, aged 16, my periods almost completely stopped.  I would have one every 12-18 months or so, sometimes going as long as 2 years between cycles.  This lasted until I was 38 and started on fertility treatment and a whole different party went on in my innards.
Since A left last year, guess how many times I've been visited by Aunt Flo? Twelve. A regular 28-day cycle, still heavy and painful, but a regular cycle.
Now.  Aged 43, single and no longer TTC.  I am finally ovulating.
And that, Ms Canadian Singer, is irony for you.

out of nowhere

So there I was yesterday, immersed fathoms deep in a journal article I am writing with Dr Beardie, when this thought floated, unprompted and so unchecked, across my conciousness:
"I am never going to have a child"
 I lost my breath for a moment.

Infertility: the gift that keeps on giving.

it's official...

Relaxing doesn't make babies: 

http://www.bmj.com/content/342/bmj.d223

Pause while infertile couples the world over chorus "no shit, Sherlock?"

fellow feeling

I have never been a Tory supporter or a big fan of W1ll1am Hagu£

But, regardless of whatever he may or may not be hiding in regard to his sexuality, you have to admire his courage on speaking out about his wife's and his IF and loss.

What if...?

What if Significant Other never forgives me for losing our babies?

He almost left after we lost Starchild, he could barely look at me after we lost Bean, and now - four months after my last (and final) miscarriage - he may be about to leave for sure.

What if he never forgives me for robbing him of the chance to be a father, to leave something behind to carry on his genes and his memory and at least his partial likeness?

Significant Other may decide after all that leaving me is the key to his future. He may meet someone younger / more fertile / both of these things and have a child and be happy. But what if he can never forgive me for the loss of the three children that, in one way or another, my body killed?

What if he can never forgive me for the years of pain and sadness my infertility has caused him?

He was in love with me once, what now seems like a lifetime ago. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see him looking at me with that same love. What if that love is still there somewhere, buried beneath the sand of this island of misery on which we seem to be stranded and we can find it again? What if we can, after all, live a different kind of life?

This post was written as part of the Bloggers Unite: Project IF. Click here for a list of heart-wrenching "what-ifs".
To learn more about infertility go to Resolve.
And this week - 24th April - 1st May is NIAW