I'm not even sure that I should write a post about this because I don't know that it's fair. (And it will once again reveal how crazy I am.)
My husband and I went home to my in-laws' for a long weekend a few days ago. I was really looking forward to it because we hadn't seen them in a few months, and I was eager to have a few days away from the daily routines that dominate my life lately. I have really wonderful in-laws whom I love very much and actually enjoy spending time with.
But when it comes to my in-laws, our infertility is kind of a strange topic. My husband is much more private about our issues than I am, so my family knows all about it, and he has kept his largely in the dark. It wasn't until late this summer that they even knew about his fertility issues, and they didn't find out about mine until the night before I was going in for surgery back in April -- you know, just in case something happened. I don't completely agree with this approach because I don't want our infertility to feel like a secret, like something we need to hide and be ashamed of. I don't know that that's how my husband really feels (he says it's not) -- he is a private person, after all -- but I can't help but wonder.
At this point in time, partially thanks to my inability to keep all of this under wraps, his parents pretty much know exactly what's going on. They know that we've been told IVF is our only option. They know we will consider adoption if our IVF attempt doesn't work. They know we both have issues that aren't easily solved. They know about my emotional struggles with all of it, and they know about my husband's very rational approach to everything.
As time has gone on, it has become a topic that is more and more comfortable for my in-laws, I think. At first, they never ever brought it up -- which kind of made me frustrated and angry at times. Or if I brought it up, the only response I ever got was something positive -- a la "It will all work out! Keep your chin up!" This kind of response made me want to scream. Now, though, I am able to talk more freely about it, they ask questions, they seem more engaged and interested, and they also seem to have a bit more compassion. And I am so thankful that they've come around a bit.
As far as we know, my husband's siblings, a young sister and a younger brother, are mostly in the dark. Or maybe that's me being naive. I suppose it would be reasonable (and would definitely happen in my family) to assume that my husband's parents have filled his siblings in. If they do know, though, they don't let on. For some reason it doesn't bother me one bit to think that his siblings don't know anything about our struggles. For some reason I'd almost rather it remain that way.
Confession: I'm a fairly competitive person. To be competitive when it comes to fertility seems ridiculous, but I think what I feel is this dread of all of those around me, those I love, realizing this dream of having children before I do. Even though I started on the path first, even though I've put in the time, energy, emotional wackiness, money, physically draining procedures and medications and exams, etc. -- I'm afraid that everyone around me will get to the finish line first. And I have already experienced this awful phenomenon several times with close friends. But it would be so much more difficult if my sister-in-law were to have a baby first, or if my brother-in-law were to. It would mean that they could give make my in-laws' dreams of being grandparents come true. It would mean that all kinds of excitement and pride and love would revolve around them. It would mean that I would have to watch from the shadowy corners in pain, knowing that I can't have what they can.
Granted -- none of this is happening. Hopefully none of this happens any time soon. Neither of them are even married (both are in serious relationships). But every time I go home to my in-laws', I can't help but think about it.
And so this brings us to something I'm embarrassed to admit. My sister-in-law has fairly recently entered into a serious relationship with a guy she met at work. Recently we all found out that he has a daughter who doesn't live with him. My SIL had never met her until this weekend -- when we all did. This whole situation is a source of anxiety and jealousy for my sister-in-law. She's looking at this guy as a potential life partner and considering the fact that he's already had a child ... with someone else. I know that is difficult, and I'm not sure how I would react, especially when she's so young and wants to do all of that with her husband for the first time. I found myself, though, feeling jealous. Jealous that if she marries him, she will immediately have a child in her life. She will get to be in some kind of a mother role without even trying. This little girl will help my in-laws to feel like (and I suppose eventually be) grandparents to her.
I am sure being a step-parent when you're not prepared to be doesn't sound ideal, and I feel for her. If I weren't in my situation, I would completely understand. But here I am wanting a child more than anything, and it is kind of difficult for me to think about.
I'm kind of jealous. And I feel ridiculous for it.
From 20 to 25, I dated a man with a daughter. We lived together, had plans to get married, shopped for engagement rings, and I was basically that little girl's stepmother. I met her when she has just turned two so she didn't even remember a time before me. It was, hands down, the hardest thing I've ever done. Her mother (and father, though I refused to admit it at the time) were lax parents. She was always in ill-fitting clothes with long dirty nails and her favorite pastime was watching tv. I spent years buying her clothes, teaching her to love books, encouraging her to play outside, and playing math games with her when I discovered an aptitude. And then, one day, I never saw her again. It was five years ago, and I still dream of her. I was as big a part of her life as anyone but her mother, who had primary custody, but when my ex and I broke up I lost her forever. I used to spend every weekend trying to undo the neglect and of her mother, the passivity of her father, trying to give her a better life, all while shoving down my own resentment that something I already wanted so badly was handed to someone else by accident, someone who didn't appreciate their little miracle.
ReplyDeleteI loved her, but she wasn't mine. Not even a little. And now I don't even know if she remembers me.