I think I've become almost assimilated into normal, sometimes. I don't recoil at the sight of babies anymore. Infertility no longer dominates my every waking moment. I mean, I don't forget I have no tubes, but, post-Boy, things are much easier.
But some people make it easier to handle than others.
I have a friend who had her first when I was going through a particularly rough time with losses and treatments. She probably didn't mean to, but she completely rubbed me up the wrong way (I think she had it in her head that I'd feel better if I took more interest in her pregnancy and baby, and some of her endless status updates on Facebook were particularly aimed and me and my husband, when we just wanted to try and deal with our own problems as best as we could) and we barely spoke for a while.
Fast forward a couple of years. Things have gotten much better between us, although I think the level of trust has diminished.
So, I asked her if she fancied doing an activity with a small group of other people. It's reasonably strenuous and somewhere quite remote. I made a point of saying we were leaving the Boy (partly because it's not small-child-friendly, and partly because she sometimes just ignores her toddler causing havoc - which isn't really what you want if you've booked a babysitter for your own kid).
She said yes, so I started looking at pricing and arrangements. I e-mailed the group to confirm, then got a weirdly passive aggressive message from her saying she'd noticed her husband and son weren't included. She quite often does stuff without her husband, so I replied saying she hadn't said anything about him coming, and reiterated that it wasn't a suitable activity for small children, so I'd understand if she couldn't make it.
I then got a reply saying that she'd checked with her husband and he didn't want to come anyway, so just to go ahead.
Then - and I bet you saw this coming - she posted a scan photo on Facebook.
So now I'm gritting my teeth about the whole thing. I had been feeling relatively ok about being infertile, babies weren't bothering me; feeling normal. But I'm kind of grumpy about the whole trip and it's making me feel grumpy about my husband's dithering about whether or not he wants to try for #2, whether we'll move house, and so on.
If she's coming, the dynamic will change; not so much drinking and having to take it slightly easier. One of my other pals is also going through fertility problems and I suspect will probably find it a bit tough.
I'm not sure if I'm irrationally annoyed because she can get pregnant easily and I can't. Maybe I thought I was doing better than I actually am. Or maybe it is just genuinely a bit irritating.
I don't want to go back to feeling bad when other people get pregnant.
Update: Giving the Boy his bedtime routine, I remembered that I promised myself that, if I ever actually had a baby, I'd stop fretting about small, stupid things and be grateful for just being able to have one child; that secondary infertility would never affect me as badly as it did first time around. So I think I need to just focus on, and be thankful for, what I have.
Monday, 29 April 2013
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Changing rooms
As part of our plan to move our lives on, we had our flat valued. We bought our home just before the economy went completely down the toilet. In fact, checking an article in an estate agent magazine, we bought it the month the property market peaked.
Great timing, eh?
The good news is, we don't have negative equity. The bad news is, the recession has wiped a cool £30k off the value. Which is probably about as much as we gained on my husband's last flat, sold when we bought this place. About 8,000 kebabs, the entire contents of every local charity shop, and then some. About as much as David Beckham spends on a single pair of pants.
Eeek.
We had been banking on a leetle bit more money than that, and it's going to make it a lot more difficult to move somewhere with a garden. Plus the value we got was dependent on getting our place repainted, recarpeted and so on.
Hope we win the lottery, or that our collection of DVDs is actually worth more than the £6.87 I estimate it to be. Pray that the estate agent was wrong.
I suppose the silver lining is that the market is a wee bit shagged everywhere; we'll pay less for a bigger place than we would have five years ago
We'll have to get someone else round for a second opinion but make sure we do a better job of tidying and decluttering first. Casting my eye around, the dead pot plant, carpet stains, and half-chewed roll of toilet paper are not likely to help form positive opinions.
I remember in the 2000s, there were all these property shows that told you how to make an attractive wall hanging out a bike wheel and some ribbon and bottle tops. And other, similar ones that said you should paint everything magnolia. But I don't think either of those will help us, now.
Great timing, eh?
The good news is, we don't have negative equity. The bad news is, the recession has wiped a cool £30k off the value. Which is probably about as much as we gained on my husband's last flat, sold when we bought this place. About 8,000 kebabs, the entire contents of every local charity shop, and then some. About as much as David Beckham spends on a single pair of pants.
Eeek.
We had been banking on a leetle bit more money than that, and it's going to make it a lot more difficult to move somewhere with a garden. Plus the value we got was dependent on getting our place repainted, recarpeted and so on.
Hope we win the lottery, or that our collection of DVDs is actually worth more than the £6.87 I estimate it to be. Pray that the estate agent was wrong.
I suppose the silver lining is that the market is a wee bit shagged everywhere; we'll pay less for a bigger place than we would have five years ago
We'll have to get someone else round for a second opinion but make sure we do a better job of tidying and decluttering first. Casting my eye around, the dead pot plant, carpet stains, and half-chewed roll of toilet paper are not likely to help form positive opinions.
I remember in the 2000s, there were all these property shows that told you how to make an attractive wall hanging out a bike wheel and some ribbon and bottle tops. And other, similar ones that said you should paint everything magnolia. But I don't think either of those will help us, now.
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
Maggie, Maggie, Maggie...
I must admit, my primary emotion at hearing of the passing of Margaret Thatcher was a stab of exhaultation.
Isn't that awful?
On reflection, I think she did some good. From reading the history books, the UK couldn't have gone on in the way it had been. Industrial reform was inevitable, and was inevitably going to cause some pain. The council house buyout allowed millions to buy property, giving them a more secure foothold in society.
Which brings me to the bad points. Like her not believing in society.
But above all, what she did was to make society less equal. Those who ended up on the bottom rung during the 1980s have become less and less likely to move up the ladder. Entire communities were thrown on the dole queue, and became far more susceptible to the ravages of drugs, unemployment and poverty. Some of them are within a few minutes of where I stay, and have not recovered from the dismantling of heavy industry.
It wouldn't have been so bad if there had been more invested in alternatives. We didn't stay in a town dominated by heavy industry, but, during the 80s, I remember my older siblings spending months, even years, being firstly unemployed and then under-employed. Mass unemployment hurt graduates as well as ex miners, particularly in areas outside the South East of England.
For every good policy effect there was a bad one. The council house buyout wasn't just about a family buying a house; some families managed to buy several and then make a fortune. Which means that now, some households live in terribly cramped conditions, unable to afford to buy or rent commercially, but stuck in a tiny council house.
Perhaps some sort of counter balance to the policy would have to have reinvested the receipts for sales in new council housing, or only allowed, say, 50% of houses in a community to be sold.
I think I'd have felt slightly... well, "sad" isn't the right word. But possibly find the celebrations of her death a bit more distasteful, if this horrible government, full of her political children, hadn't chosen this month to step up their persecution of disabled people. Food banks are opening everywhere, the government cuts benefits as an incentive to work, then announces it is also going to cut the minimum wage. And they try to justify reforms by using the deaths of six children at the hands of their father.
That's her legacy - that "the devil take the hindmost" is an acceptable government policy. Well, he's taken her, now.
Isn't that awful?
On reflection, I think she did some good. From reading the history books, the UK couldn't have gone on in the way it had been. Industrial reform was inevitable, and was inevitably going to cause some pain. The council house buyout allowed millions to buy property, giving them a more secure foothold in society.
Which brings me to the bad points. Like her not believing in society.
But above all, what she did was to make society less equal. Those who ended up on the bottom rung during the 1980s have become less and less likely to move up the ladder. Entire communities were thrown on the dole queue, and became far more susceptible to the ravages of drugs, unemployment and poverty. Some of them are within a few minutes of where I stay, and have not recovered from the dismantling of heavy industry.
It wouldn't have been so bad if there had been more invested in alternatives. We didn't stay in a town dominated by heavy industry, but, during the 80s, I remember my older siblings spending months, even years, being firstly unemployed and then under-employed. Mass unemployment hurt graduates as well as ex miners, particularly in areas outside the South East of England.
For every good policy effect there was a bad one. The council house buyout wasn't just about a family buying a house; some families managed to buy several and then make a fortune. Which means that now, some households live in terribly cramped conditions, unable to afford to buy or rent commercially, but stuck in a tiny council house.
Perhaps some sort of counter balance to the policy would have to have reinvested the receipts for sales in new council housing, or only allowed, say, 50% of houses in a community to be sold.
I think I'd have felt slightly... well, "sad" isn't the right word. But possibly find the celebrations of her death a bit more distasteful, if this horrible government, full of her political children, hadn't chosen this month to step up their persecution of disabled people. Food banks are opening everywhere, the government cuts benefits as an incentive to work, then announces it is also going to cut the minimum wage. And they try to justify reforms by using the deaths of six children at the hands of their father.
That's her legacy - that "the devil take the hindmost" is an acceptable government policy. Well, he's taken her, now.
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
The cat's paw
The cat was pretty damn horrified when we brought the Boy home.
I, to be fair, wasn't great with the cat. I had promised myself and her that I'd still have time to rub her tummy every day, and this didn't work. At all.
But, over time, the family dynamic has readjusted itself. The cat knows exactly how fascinating she is to the Boy, and used to sit just out of his reach, or dart past him. He'd try to grab her and would sometimes laugh and her in delight as she walked in front of him.
Ah, but the rules change all the time. The Boy can now crawl forward... which means the cat is going through another rapid period of readjustment.
The worst time for her was probably the very first time the Boy crawled - he made a beeline for her basket, then picked it up and waved it around. She'd been trying to hide behind it and was clearly appalled by this new and unexpected development. So, for most of the past week, whenever the Boy has begun to maraud around the flat, the cat has made herself scarce.
She seems to have gotten the hang of things over the past couple of days, though, and now actively courts the Boy's attention. Today, she sat of the table, easily within reach. As the Boy tried to grab her, she gently batted his hand with her paw, and he giggled. They both seemed to be enjoying the game.
Then, he grabbed her tail and she must have pushed him less gently on the forehead. He looked startled and let out a couple of sobs, but the cat kept her claws sheathed and there was no harm done (the whole incident from tail pull to paw push was so rapid that my husband, who was right next to them, couldn't react quick enough to move the Boy away).
The only other time he's managed to pull her tail before we or she stopped him, the cat hissed at the Boy. And he immediately stopped and burst into tears; her wrath is evidently worse than ours. I did wonder how he automatically knew the cat was angry and that he should be frightened, as she'd never shown any real signs of irritation at him before that, but I guess it must be instinctive, somehow. I also wonder how the cat knows not to hurt him; I have a feeling I'd be treated much less gently if I grabbed her tail!
I did feel bad for the cat at first, and the pair of them are going to need close supervision as, although the cat has been amazingly patient so far, I don't want either of them to hurt each other. As he grows, it's lovely to see them developing their own relationship; hopefully the Boy will stop showing his affection by grabbing, and he'll entertain the cat as much as she entertains him.
I, to be fair, wasn't great with the cat. I had promised myself and her that I'd still have time to rub her tummy every day, and this didn't work. At all.
But, over time, the family dynamic has readjusted itself. The cat knows exactly how fascinating she is to the Boy, and used to sit just out of his reach, or dart past him. He'd try to grab her and would sometimes laugh and her in delight as she walked in front of him.
Ah, but the rules change all the time. The Boy can now crawl forward... which means the cat is going through another rapid period of readjustment.
The worst time for her was probably the very first time the Boy crawled - he made a beeline for her basket, then picked it up and waved it around. She'd been trying to hide behind it and was clearly appalled by this new and unexpected development. So, for most of the past week, whenever the Boy has begun to maraud around the flat, the cat has made herself scarce.
She seems to have gotten the hang of things over the past couple of days, though, and now actively courts the Boy's attention. Today, she sat of the table, easily within reach. As the Boy tried to grab her, she gently batted his hand with her paw, and he giggled. They both seemed to be enjoying the game.
Then, he grabbed her tail and she must have pushed him less gently on the forehead. He looked startled and let out a couple of sobs, but the cat kept her claws sheathed and there was no harm done (the whole incident from tail pull to paw push was so rapid that my husband, who was right next to them, couldn't react quick enough to move the Boy away).
The only other time he's managed to pull her tail before we or she stopped him, the cat hissed at the Boy. And he immediately stopped and burst into tears; her wrath is evidently worse than ours. I did wonder how he automatically knew the cat was angry and that he should be frightened, as she'd never shown any real signs of irritation at him before that, but I guess it must be instinctive, somehow. I also wonder how the cat knows not to hurt him; I have a feeling I'd be treated much less gently if I grabbed her tail!
I did feel bad for the cat at first, and the pair of them are going to need close supervision as, although the cat has been amazingly patient so far, I don't want either of them to hurt each other. As he grows, it's lovely to see them developing their own relationship; hopefully the Boy will stop showing his affection by grabbing, and he'll entertain the cat as much as she entertains him.
Thursday, 28 February 2013
Spam spam spam
I had an e-mail in my inbox today, from a name I vaguely recognised.
"But why has he e-mailed me now?" I thought, puzzled.
I clicked, and it was a "Hi, look at THIS propertee" type e-mail.
My account has been hacked too, and it's always embarrassing.
For me, it's kind of weird coming from my last-but-one RE, who I haven't seen since he retired one pregnancy and three cycles ago.
Brings back happy memories of being convinced my 2nd and 3rd cycles would work, then me e-mailing him in a distraught way when they didn't. Total blast from the past.
I wonder if any other ex patients got the e-mail and are similarly reliving memories?
"But why has he e-mailed me now?" I thought, puzzled.
I clicked, and it was a "Hi, look at THIS propertee" type e-mail.
My account has been hacked too, and it's always embarrassing.
For me, it's kind of weird coming from my last-but-one RE, who I haven't seen since he retired one pregnancy and three cycles ago.
Brings back happy memories of being convinced my 2nd and 3rd cycles would work, then me e-mailing him in a distraught way when they didn't. Total blast from the past.
I wonder if any other ex patients got the e-mail and are similarly reliving memories?
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Weary
In the long years when I was trying to conceive, my husband and I agreed that, after the battle was won, we'd move out of the city, to somewhere where we could buy a house with a garden, the Boy could safely play outside, and there was a good school.
I mean, it's not exactly an unusual ask.
When I actually got pregnant, I was working part time, in a job that effectively ties me to where we stay now (odd hours, including evenings and weekends, among other reasons). My husband had a part time job and some freelance work.
After I had the Boy, I went on maternity leave, and my husband lost his part time job. They were fairly hard financial times.
My husband had around three months of freelancing. I asked him a few times if he could build up his business and do it full time, but he still wanted a part time job. One of his mates offered him something - an ok job, but one with no career prospects. He took it, and works between that and his own business.
We agreed that, after Christmas, he would start looking for work elsewhere. I would leave my original job and we would move.
To this end, I took on another part time job, one that I can do from anywhere. I've also taken on some freelancing. I've been gradually picking up projects back at my original part time job, under pressure from my boss to come back. And I do the bulk of the childcare.
My situation is better, as I do really feel like I'm preparing to leave my original job, and that we'll be in reasonable financial shape when we take the plunge.
The problem is that my husband just hasn't bothered to look for anything. He refuses to tell me what sort of job he's interested in. He rejects any suggestions I make. He won't countenance any suggestions that he cut back his hours with his part time job and build up his freelancing, even though he'd rather work for himself than anyone else. He doesn't want to commute. He had agreed to phone up about a job that was in a location near my family, where we'd have free childcare, but then decided he didn't fit the job description properly, so isn't going to bother.
We're two months into the New Year and he hasn't applied for anything.I think he's maybe set up some automatic searches on job sites, and that's about it.
He said last week that we'd had a lot of upheaval over the past couple of years and maybe we should have agreed to move later. Fair enough. But then, I really, really wish he'd said this before I started the process of building up work I can do when we move.
I also can't really leave my old job yet, not unless he gets something more solid, wherever it is we're going to move to.
Meanwhile, I feel like I am running myself into the ground, trying to keep everything going. And feeling increasingly stressed about being back properly at my old job. We've been bickering more and more because I've been feeling so under pressure.
To give you an example, I looked after the Boy from 5.30 to 11.30, starting work at one of my jobs at 8. I juggled looking after the Boy and work until my mother appeared to help out. I finished at around 4.15, and used my lunch hour to do freelancing. Then I looked after the Boy and cooked, and had a hideous evening meeting that lasted an hour. I ended up crawling more or less straight into bed when I got in at 9pm, and then couldn't sleep because I felt so wound up. And then the Boy got up at 1am...
After a weekend of arguing, and finally me e-mailing him to try and get across that I cannot keep on looking after the Boy, trying to build a business, and do two other jobs, my husband has found one fucking job to apply for. One. In two months. And he hasn't actually filled in the form yet, or decided whether he wants to do it full time or apply for jobshare.
He mutters about how he has saved time by going up to the supermarket by himself (I actually quite enjoy us all going, and the Boy likes it too), or by getting up early in the morning, or about how he's going to let out a property he inherited (another argument simmering away - it's too far away for him to refurbish by himself, too small for us to move to, he's liable for tax on it while it's uninhabited, and anyway, I feel really uncomfortable about him holding an empty flat when so many people struggle for a roof over their heads. He won't sell it either).
To be fair, he does work really hard for his employer, and his existing clients. But not, apparently, at things that are going to change the situation we're in.
I know we're not in a terrible position. There are people without babies, without work. Single parents who have to work all hours to make the ends meet without someone sharing the bills. Disabled people about to get into debt because of benefit cuts. And people in other countries, and so on. I know we're lucky.
But I do feel a bit pissed off about it all.
I mean, it's not exactly an unusual ask.
When I actually got pregnant, I was working part time, in a job that effectively ties me to where we stay now (odd hours, including evenings and weekends, among other reasons). My husband had a part time job and some freelance work.
After I had the Boy, I went on maternity leave, and my husband lost his part time job. They were fairly hard financial times.
My husband had around three months of freelancing. I asked him a few times if he could build up his business and do it full time, but he still wanted a part time job. One of his mates offered him something - an ok job, but one with no career prospects. He took it, and works between that and his own business.
We agreed that, after Christmas, he would start looking for work elsewhere. I would leave my original job and we would move.
To this end, I took on another part time job, one that I can do from anywhere. I've also taken on some freelancing. I've been gradually picking up projects back at my original part time job, under pressure from my boss to come back. And I do the bulk of the childcare.
My situation is better, as I do really feel like I'm preparing to leave my original job, and that we'll be in reasonable financial shape when we take the plunge.
The problem is that my husband just hasn't bothered to look for anything. He refuses to tell me what sort of job he's interested in. He rejects any suggestions I make. He won't countenance any suggestions that he cut back his hours with his part time job and build up his freelancing, even though he'd rather work for himself than anyone else. He doesn't want to commute. He had agreed to phone up about a job that was in a location near my family, where we'd have free childcare, but then decided he didn't fit the job description properly, so isn't going to bother.
We're two months into the New Year and he hasn't applied for anything.I think he's maybe set up some automatic searches on job sites, and that's about it.
He said last week that we'd had a lot of upheaval over the past couple of years and maybe we should have agreed to move later. Fair enough. But then, I really, really wish he'd said this before I started the process of building up work I can do when we move.
I also can't really leave my old job yet, not unless he gets something more solid, wherever it is we're going to move to.
Meanwhile, I feel like I am running myself into the ground, trying to keep everything going. And feeling increasingly stressed about being back properly at my old job. We've been bickering more and more because I've been feeling so under pressure.
To give you an example, I looked after the Boy from 5.30 to 11.30, starting work at one of my jobs at 8. I juggled looking after the Boy and work until my mother appeared to help out. I finished at around 4.15, and used my lunch hour to do freelancing. Then I looked after the Boy and cooked, and had a hideous evening meeting that lasted an hour. I ended up crawling more or less straight into bed when I got in at 9pm, and then couldn't sleep because I felt so wound up. And then the Boy got up at 1am...
After a weekend of arguing, and finally me e-mailing him to try and get across that I cannot keep on looking after the Boy, trying to build a business, and do two other jobs, my husband has found one fucking job to apply for. One. In two months. And he hasn't actually filled in the form yet, or decided whether he wants to do it full time or apply for jobshare.
He mutters about how he has saved time by going up to the supermarket by himself (I actually quite enjoy us all going, and the Boy likes it too), or by getting up early in the morning, or about how he's going to let out a property he inherited (another argument simmering away - it's too far away for him to refurbish by himself, too small for us to move to, he's liable for tax on it while it's uninhabited, and anyway, I feel really uncomfortable about him holding an empty flat when so many people struggle for a roof over their heads. He won't sell it either).
To be fair, he does work really hard for his employer, and his existing clients. But not, apparently, at things that are going to change the situation we're in.
I know we're not in a terrible position. There are people without babies, without work. Single parents who have to work all hours to make the ends meet without someone sharing the bills. Disabled people about to get into debt because of benefit cuts. And people in other countries, and so on. I know we're lucky.
But I do feel a bit pissed off about it all.
Saturday, 23 February 2013
No means no
We are still working on getting the Boy not to throw food.
Usually I say "no" sternly, and he looks contrite. Then we smile at each other, and we try again. If he hurls the next handful of food immediately, then I usually take that to mean he's had enough, and mealtime is over. If he carries on (and sometimes he does throw a handful of food and eat the next handful) then I let him eat until he is full.
He still throws, but I feel like I'm making headway.
The problem is, my husband cannot do stern. I came out of the shower, and heard him saying, rather camply, "Don't throw your food, you bad boy!". The Boy responded by cackling with laughter at him.
I think my husband does want to mean it, but he really struggles to sound like he means it. Every time he says "No, don't you do that!", in a very limp wristed fashion, the Boy roars with laughter at him, and sometimes, I do too. Which is very bad of me, but he sounds like he's channeling a Carry On film.
I've got a horrible feeling that I'm going to be the disciplinarian in the family in the future!
Usually I say "no" sternly, and he looks contrite. Then we smile at each other, and we try again. If he hurls the next handful of food immediately, then I usually take that to mean he's had enough, and mealtime is over. If he carries on (and sometimes he does throw a handful of food and eat the next handful) then I let him eat until he is full.
He still throws, but I feel like I'm making headway.
The problem is, my husband cannot do stern. I came out of the shower, and heard him saying, rather camply, "Don't throw your food, you bad boy!". The Boy responded by cackling with laughter at him.
I think my husband does want to mean it, but he really struggles to sound like he means it. Every time he says "No, don't you do that!", in a very limp wristed fashion, the Boy roars with laughter at him, and sometimes, I do too. Which is very bad of me, but he sounds like he's channeling a Carry On film.
I've got a horrible feeling that I'm going to be the disciplinarian in the family in the future!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)