I had a great day yesterday with cake and presents. Madison swore I wasn’t getting a cake and that the wrapped package in the ‘fridge was actually an old, dirty, leather boot for me to eat. I stomped around complaining about it all day while she wriggled with glee. Every once in awhile she’d sidle up to me and say, “So — excited about your old boot?”
I am also neck-deep in work because there’s a lot going on in front of and behind the scenes. Speaking of which, if you felt compelled to weigh in on Hollywood’s infertility secrets, I would dearly love you to here. If you’ve got a blog, feel free to take it back and play at home. We’ll be posting these every Tuesday but getting the buzz up early on is always hard. Nobody wants to be FIRST.
Personally I’m totally annoyed by the zillions of women who won’t just come clean and so make it seem like infertility is a shameful shameful secret. No it isn’t. It just is. Some of us have bodies that don’t work right. All of us (women) have bodies that eventually aren’t fertile anymore. What’s the shame in that? I can see not talking about it when you’re going through it and are raw and miserable but once you’ve resolved it however you’ve resolved it? We should do each other the favor of becoming voices of support.
My $.02. But then I am often shameless. (Ask my mother.)
Possibly related posts:
I’ve found it sort of liberating to be able to say when asked why we’re not “just getting pregnant” that it’s because of what’s specifically wrong with my body, because people who see me in my clothes can’t see how messed up the bones are and generally don’t know I’m in pain unless I tell them.
Not related to that, our social worker was describing a little girl to us yesterday (sibling to the boy she thinks would be a good fit) who’s biracial and apparently extremely active and super-dramatic and when Elizabeth went into a long description of how this girl was vamping it up at a family visit, Lee and I turned to each other and immediately said MADISON! So thinking of you….