Ramblings of a bored mind

Probably one of the worst things about playing the waiting game is being in the middle of it. When you start, it's new with the promise of things to come. As you get near the end, the excitement returns, as something is about to change. Being in the middle, though, is rough. You hit a plateau, knowing that you're neither here or there.

I'm officially 3 days away for finishing up Lupron and (hopefully) starting progesterone. With any luck, the ultrasound on Wednesday will reveal a thick lining and zero follicles. In short, I'm officially in the middle of this FET cycle. And I'm bored. Not with life in general (thank goodness it's the weekend . . . finally get a chance to sleep in), but bored with the shots, bored with the pills, bored with the idea that this may or may not work. Bored with infertility.

The past couple of days I've been trying to focus my attention elsewhere to combat this boredom, hoping that a few moments of distraction will be sufficient. I started by making an appointment at a local nail salon, thinking that the fumes would be enough to deter expectant mothers or those with small children (learned my lesson), then Grey and I traveled to a more urban-focused section of the city in hopes of spending some time at a local park enjoying the sun (that was over-run too). The moment I gave up was when I witnessed a couple push a stroller into a local sex shop. Granted it's one of the better ones, but still.

Reflecting on all of this, I came to realize that though some of this stuff isn't new, there's definitely a new twist on where one can and can not take children. Part of it has to do with destigmatizing parenthood, but the reality is that it's also something a bit deeper. Despite my generation claiming that they're ready to move on to this next chapter, they do so with one foot in the past. They aren't willing to give up old haunts and habits to be parents.

On some levels I respect this. The idea that one should lose their identity when taking on the role of mother is one that I will continue to scoff at. I do believe it's healthy for children to see that mommy and daddy are a part of the world, pursing their hopes and dreams. After all, happy parents in a loving and stable relationship do equal happy, healthy children.

But with parenthood also comes change and sacrifice. So when a couple plops Jr, carrier and all, on a stool in a smoky bar, I have an issue. Most of it comes from my time tending bar, where I saw generations of human erosion and I cringe at the idea that it's starting during infancy. But another end comes down to the fact that these parents aren't putting the needs of their baby ahead of their own wants.

Infertility has taught me a number of things over the last few years. It's honed my pregdar, thickened my skin and added a whole new level of fear and frustration regarding pregnancy. But it's also helped me move beyond the stage where one foot is still in singleton land, it's strengthen my marriage and it's made me less afraid of waiting for the "right" time. But most importantly, I've learned what sacrifice truly is. To forgo luxuries like exotic vacations, bottles of wine and even daily cups of coffee. Because my family is more important and if giving all of that up to walk down this path means that one day I get to hold my children in my arms, then it was worth every step. By all means, not a fair process, but one that I'm more than willing to make for that hope. Despite the fact I'm so bored with it all.