Baby Talk

It's been almost two years since the bombshell of "Hey, guess what, you can't have kids!" dropped, and although I'd love to pretend I'm fine and perfectly over it in a "turn lemons into lemonade" kind of way, it's not that cut and dried. I mean, you can adopt a new puppy (did that), remodel half the rooms in your house (did that too), go on a cruise (check), but it still doesn't make up for the fact that your house is very much baby-free.

Now please don't think I wander through life teary-eyed, ready to break down each time I see a newborn, because I don't. Usually anyway. I still don't like shopping for newborns, or going to baby showers for that matter, and I really appreciate it when friends take the time to tell me about their pregnancy in person before announcing it at a public event. But other than that, my life is usually normal. Just like yours. Albeit possibly without babies.

As the whole "infertility" issue became less of a "Oh-my-God" shocker, and more of a "part of our lives that sucks", I've found myself better able to talk about it. So now whenever I have to run through the usual medical questionnaire at a doctor's office, and get asked if I have kids/if I want kids, I can answer calmly without bursting into tears. When people ask me if we want kids of our own, I have a handy comeback ready, "Well, we already have two, you know.", And in those instances when people are idiotic enough to follow that up with, "Well, those aren't really -yours-, you know", I have routine answer ready too, the harshness of which really hinges on how much the person annoys me. 

But what's interesting about not being able to have children, is how everyone with children suddenly feels as though they are experts on the subject. Experts whose advice you, the infertile one, are obviously dying to hear. Because, obviously, when you have children "of your own", whom you had "the natural way", you are a bonafide expert on not being able to have children. Of course.

Over these past two years, I have had people give me the worst advice in the most insensitive manner imaginable. And instead of snapping back at them, I would smile. A lot. In fact, I've smiled so much over these past two years that I now have two wrinkles on the side of my mouth (although I'll accept they may not be the direct result of the past two years, they are definitely there).

Just the other day I was thinking about all the advice I've gotten these past two years, and how incredibly inappropriate some of it was. And for your (and my) merriment, I decided to list some of the funniest, out-there, OMG-did-they-just-say-that advice, things you definitely want to avoid when talking to me.

1. Don't talk about s.e.x with me. Really. I don't want to hear about the positions you used to successfully produce your offspring. I don't want to hear about the positions your sister or your best friend used either. I really don't need to see what these looked like either. Really. Especially when we're meeting in my office, you're my boss's boss's boss, and we're supposed to be talking about some report that's due.

2. Do Not Tell Me To Relax. Whoever came up with that old wives' tail deserves a good southern whoopin'. Relaxing, people, has nothing to do with getting pregnant. Getting pregnant is about biological principles, which work just fine, relaxed or not. When you've been trying to get pregnant for a year, you're really far beyond the "just relax" stage anyway. On that note, don't tell me about this cute little cabin you and your husband went to, and where you got pregnant with child #4.

3. While we're on the topic of oversharing, why is it that when you can't have kids, people automatically assume you're perfectly alright sharing every little detail about your inability to conceive with them? Honestly, I don't volunteer the fact that husband-dear and I can't have biological children together. This means that the only reason I just told you is because you asked. This does not mean I want to tell you why (because I probably don't), or go into detail about everything we've tried or not (because I really don't), or engage in any sort of discussion featuring my ovaries/uterus/cycles (nope, not happening).

4. "Have you thought about (insert fertility method here)" Is a kicker too. I really wonder if people expect us to sit up and cry out "What?! No?! Really? We've never heard of that! Please, tell us more!", because, well, we know them all. Probably better than most well-doers. What's amazing though is that after we've told people we're not interested in this or that procedure, they insist on trying to convince us to try it anyway. I've heard it all; how you can pay in installments, how you only have to pay if you get pregnant, how there's this awesome specialist five hours north, and how they know all sorts of Oprah-worthy success stories featuring far-away acquaintances who got pregnant after 8 IVF cycles, 9 IUIs, or who ended up using a surrogate mother/donor.

5. Adoption is also a very popular option. Seriously, with the amount of times we get told to adopt or try some experimental fertility procedure, you would think these people are getting a cut of the fees. Anyway, people always insist on asking why we won't adopt. Uhm, well, because we wanted a child of our own? Not someone else's? Apparently this makes us not want children bad enough, which is usually the merciful end to that conversation.

6. Another favorite response centers on the plan for your life. God/Yahweh/Mother Earth/Fate must have something different in store for us, a plan that's equally great but doesn't feature children. Right. And knowing that makes it all better, how exactly?

7. And finally, please don't tell me about your mother's sister's daughter's cousin who was infertile "just like you", but who ended up getting pregnant years and years later. Don't laugh and tell me, "So it could happen to you too!", because medically, it can't. It's great that this happened to your fourth cousin five times removed, your neighbor's cousin's great aunt, or Sarah in the old testatement, but it's called a fluke for a reason. Don't give me books featuring such stories either. They do me no good, other than to have me wonder what sort sin I must have committed to not be such a miracle mom. .

So what do you say to someone who can't have children? It's really very simple. You just show sympathy. Or crack a joke. Or just say nothing at all. And if you don't know what to say, then say that. But please don't try to fix it, I don't expect you to.

...And now in other news....