Plans are Stupid

I've had a "Top 10" list for as long as I can remember. Recently, I've started a "101 in 1,001" list that helps me to set lots and lots of little goals to be completed in about three years. It's a lot of fun to check things off and keep myself motivated to get out, do more, and feel proud of what I've done.


But that is really hard to do when you're not allowed to make plans. I was talking to a friend about my list this weekend, and she mentioned that she'd like to help me with two of my goals: #54- Ride our horses up a particular Aspen-laden hill in the fall, and #86 - Go water-skiing on the reservoir near our house. My first instinct was to say, "Heck yeah!", but in the back of my mind, I am hoping with all my heart that I can't do either one of those things this summer. I'd rather be pregnant.

It's cool. I'll just stick to some of my other goals, like: #80 - Camp overnight at the bluegrass fest, #42 - Go to Taos, NM, #61 - Enter a photo in the State Fair, etc. I can do those things no matter what.

Because we all know what #1 is...

To Come Out...Or Stay In?

Does it make me a hypocrite if I only want to come out of the IF closet AFTER I have kids?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not ashamed of my infertility, nor do I think that it's any big secret at this point. (Everyone close to us knows that my husband and I want kids...I made that abundantly clear when we got married three years ago.) I'm just trying to figure out what good it would do me if I made it public. Unless someone is going to take pity on me and foot the bill for my IVF in June, I'm not really sure if posting my trials on Facebook is going to be beneficial.

People already tip-toe around the topic of babies and are pretty carefull not to make insensitive comments around me, even in jest. I guess we're all promoting "awareness" in our everyday life. Some days more than others...

The one reason I do want to get more involved in NIAW is this: Advocacy Day. I firmly believe that it is wrong for insurance companies to deny coverage to infertile women. I would like to fight that fight...eventually.

I will try to think of a myth to bust this week, though! And then maybe I will subtly post it on FB as a note or link. Sneaky me.

So We Meet Again, Birth Control...

Infertility is nothing but one long running joke. I picked up my birth control pills this weekend...that's right, I said birth control pills. I haven't had to remember to take one of these babies since, oh, 2008. The irony of going on "the pill" now that I am desperate to get pregnant is not lost on me. I remember when I finished my last pack, six months before we got married, in preparation for starting our family. I asked my doctor when I should stop, and she said that giving my body about six months to become 'regular' before trying would be perfect. Perfect. (Sigh.)

On Saturday night, I almost forgot to take my pill, at which point I chastised my husband for failing to remind me.

"You better be careful," I said, "you could get me knocked up!"
"Yikes," he replied, "I better be more careful. What would your dad say?"

It was a funny moment that only a three-years infertile couple could have. Keep the humor alive.

Welcome to the Party, AF, I've Been Waiting for You...

Step two: Check! I started my cycle today and called my RE's office to schedule my Day 2 FSH test. (Deep breath.) Oh man, this is really happening. All I needed was for AF to show up, and she did…two days early. Next I go in for some bloodwork, start my birth control pills, and dive into a long list of US's and
drugs. I'm ready.

On a side note: I had a complete meltdown at work today after a particularly frustrating professional development meeting. (Are they EVER productive?) One of my co-workers, who is so supportive and kind, stayed back to see if I was okay (even though I thought I was hiding it well), and I just lost it. Cue the waterworks, runny mascara and all.

I really hope everyone has someone they can cry to on these days. Getting it all out - the nerves, the disappointment, the anticipation - was so therapeutic. I'm glad I held it together through the day just to lose it when one person asked. Now that that's over, I'm ready to move on.

Here's to taking another step in the journey toward parenthood!

Getting Lapped SUCKS

All the people who got pregnant the summer I got married (2008) are now pregnant…again. My sister is about to have her second child, as is my good friend from High School. My fertile-challenged friend in England is now having her second pregnancy, despite thinking that she was unable to get pregnant the first time, let alone the second. Ha ha, the joke is on me. She's lapping me. All these women have carried, given birth to, and celebrated the second birthdays of their children while I still sit here, blogging about Facebook antics and IUI vacations.

I don't care who you are or what you're talking about, getting lapped makes you feel like a complete loser. Not only is someone doing better than you, but they're doing TWICE as well. I can see it on the face of my Track kids at practice when the really "fast" kids overtake them. They know: When someone laps you, it m

eans they are better than you are. It makes you wonder: Are we all working with the same resources here? Are you on some sort of performance-enhancing drug? And most importantly: Where can I get them?

Little Victories

At the risk of being called the "crazy childless aunt" who hoards cats and calls her horses her "children," I have been working with horses a lot lately. Before this, my time was pretty evenly split between work and…well, work. The weekends would come and I would spend most of it with my husband and dogs, and some of it at school. While I have been diligently working on my 101 in 1,001 list, finding things to do and places to go, my "everyday" life wasn't really filled with anything that I could call a significant hobby, something I looked forward to doing on a regular basis. I've tried running, but that's very seasonal, and not even really my cup of tea. (I really do hate running, I just love what it does for my body.)

Two months ago, I met a woman who needed help with her horses. She'd taken in two new ones, both abused, and had little time to train her own and spend time with these needy ones. So, I started coming over and brushing, walking, riding, and desensitizing (to strange noises or situations) two of her horses. It is amazing. The gratification that I have not been getting from my work (most times it seems that the kids just hate what and how I teach), or my body (that still refuses to get any kind of pregnant), I am finding with these animals. Every time I work or spend time with them, they do something that they didn't do before. Like yesterday, Maverick (a beautiful Appaloosa) stood completely still while I brushed and cleaned him. He's never done that for anyone, his owner said. I did that! My love, care, and attention made a discernable difference! It feels good to have small victories, even if they are equine in nature. I had forgotten how good it feels to accomplish something tangible. I hope everyone has something like this that makes them feel helpful and appreciated. I wish I had found this a year ago…

Oh No She Didn't!

I haven't been writing much lately as I have been on a "TTC Hiatus." (We all know that infertility still occupies a good chunk of my time and makes me insanely jealous when someone new announces a pregnancy...I'm just not going to the RE and spending my allowance on Follistim.) The hubby and I are waiting until summertime to undergo the fabled IVF procedure. We decided that the stress of work and finances would make this cycle (read: any cycle until May) a bust no matter what. If IVF is going to be successfull (and for $5,000, it better be!), then we want to give it the best shot possible. So, here's to taking a break...

In the meantime, we've been enjoying time with friends. This weekend, we were coaxed into going to a local iconic eatery in Denver called Casa Bonita. It was...um, interesting. Think Las Vegas' Venitian hotel, but Mexicali. With a waterfall. And a cave. And an arcade. It was just kitschy enough to include a fortune-teller-in-a-box, à la "Big". (My Cultural Studies teacher, let alone Umberto Eco, would have had a field day with this place.) Anyway, for one token, Estrella would give you a fortune. I was in.

I put in my token, she waved her automated hand over her crystal ball, and violà! Nothing. No fortune appeared in the little slot. That's par for the course: my luck was crap. I asked the attendants if the machine was broken, and they in turn asked a manager to come help me out. "Do you want your fortune, or do you want your token back?" she asked, amused. "I want my fortune!" I said. In went the token, and out came not one but TWO fortunes! Oh, the luck! Here is what the fortunes said:

"Ideas are like children, there are none so wonderful as your own."

Damn you, Estrella. Damn you.

Which Way to Go?

Just when you think you're all alone…you realize you're not. I had a very strange dream about an old friend of mine last night, and I caught her on Facebook chat this morning. She and I worked together when I was in college, and we were very close. So, I didn't feel like I had to dance around my TTC frustrations when she asked how I was. As it turns out, she also had some difficulty when she began trying for a baby. At 25, she had a miscarriage, and then it took three more years to get pregnant again. She now has two beautiful little girls and never went to an RE once. She and her husband went on a long-awaited vacation and, BLAMO!, they got pregnant.

I'm trying very hard to make a decision about this IVF - do it or not? Take the natural route or the scientific one? I know that it works for some people, but I also know that it doesn't work for a lot of people. I hate to be pragmatic about it, but it will fall in the two busiest months of the school year (State testing), and I'm not really looking forward to putting stress on top of stress. I know that my work shouldn't dictate my life, but it is my job and I do take a lot of pride in doing it well. That's hard to do when you're skipping out every other day for blood tests and ultrasounds.

Maybe the IVF can wait a few months. I don't have an discernable condition, so perhaps a few months of R&R on the TTC front could be beneficial…it's worth a shot, I guess. I know I'm not getting any younger (oh, hello Birthday, just around the corner), but I don't want to go crazy in the meantime.

New Year, New Me...Really

I buried my youth today. One of the things that has bugged me about infertility these last two years is that I feel like I'm stuck between two lives: my youth and parenthood. I went from being a raft-guiding, college girl to being a wife and teacher, expecting children to be close at hand. I only got married when I felt the ticking of my biological clock. (Don't worry, I loved my husband just as much then as I do now, but my mother always told me I would know I'd found my husband when I discovered that I loved him so much I'd want to have his children. She was right.) I just assumed that it would be a quick transition between fun-loving freedom and buckle-down parenthood, and I was ready for the leap. It has not been a smooth transition at all: it has been a long, frustrating, drawn-out affair that has put my identity into question.

I hold on to my youth and my experiences in a small, black, Molskine notebook. I've had it since the year 2000 and have chronicled all the books I've read, pithy phrases that have made an impact on me, things I've done, and things I mean to do. Every so often, I look back in this book and remind myself of who I am, what I want, and where I've been. Today I decided, however, that I need to re-evaluate things. I need to figure out who I am as an adult without kids. What are the things that inspire me? What do I want? What do I like to do?

So, I got out the new, red Molskine that I bought at the National Gallery in England this summer. I knew that my old black one was going to eventually run out of pages, and I was lamenting the fact that I'd have to switch over. But this, I think, is much better. I made a conscious decision to lay it to rest. It is no more. Now I have a fresh book, blank and inviting, waiting to be filled with quotes from new books, clippings from new magazines, lists of movies I want to see, and such. I am not the same person I was ten years ago, and I need to let go of that. I also need to let go of any preconceived notions I had about who I would be and what I would have at 31 (in one month) years of age. It's a new dawn, and I'm going to fill the page of my new year with a new me. (Though the old me can still hang out when I listen to Taio Cruz and go out dancing.)

The Things That Keep Us Going

I went to see '127 Hours' this week with my mom and brothers - IT WAS AMAZING! The movie is the reconstructed story of Aron Ralston and his harrowing days stuck in a slot canyon. As most of you know, he ends up cutting his arm off, and the movie doesn't really dance around that. The cinematography is amazing, the soundtrack is cool, and James Franco does a really nice job of portraying (what I expect to be) a full-loving but slightly flawed main character. Almost the entire movie takes place in the canyon, with Aron's arm pinned between a 'Rock and a Hard Place' (the name of his book, if you haven't read it), but the director, Danny Boyle, (who also directed 'Slumdog Millionare') does an amazing job of keeping your attention riveted to the screen for what could have easily been a very boring 94 minutes.

At some point (SPOILER ALERT!) Aron hallucinates about the things that will make life worth fighting for, and he eventually sees the face of his son. (He has yet to even meet his future wife. It's all very hypothetical.) The little boy's visage gives him the strength he needs to do the inconceivable - cut of fhis own arm. It's awesome.

It did make me think, however, about how much we (and I'm talking WE, gals) will do to reach the end of our own battle. The very images in our mind of what our kids will look like, what they will say, and how much we will love them gives us all the strength to keep on keepin' on. To Aron, the very idea of having kids was worth putting a blunt instrument through his radius. For us, it's worth dozens of doctor's visits, months of despair, and hundreds of little white sticks that we pee on in the morning. (At least we don't have to drink urine like Aron. Ick.) In the end, like it was for Aron, it will all be worth it. It will. Someday.

Please, please, please work...

I finally have a date! (That statement is oddly reminiscent of myself in high school.) Tuesday will be my big day - IUI #5. I know this one is going to work, though, so never you mind that it's the fifth one. I went in today for my check-up and got to see a picture of my lead follicle - it's big and happy and ready to be fertilized! If this all works out, I will get to brag that I got to see my baby before it was even a baby. Yeah, pregnant women, how many of you can say that?

My doctor was very pleased with my follicle and my lining, and said that it even had a buddy - a "backup" if you will. That's cool. I'll take one big and one medium egg over 15 gigantic eggs any time. Well, except in January, when we do the IVF if this doesn't work out… then I'll want enough eggs to fill an Easter basket.

In any case, this week I'm thankful for REs and nurses who come in on the weekend, little follicles that hang in there, and a husband who understands that "no means no" when you're abstaining for an IUI. He's such a good boy.

Suspicions Confirmed: I Am an 18-Year-Old Stuck in a 30-Year-Old Body

So, I was rocking out to Taio Cruz's "Dynamite" (can't get enough of it), and I was thinking to myself, "Self, aren't you a little old to love this song? Should you really be thinking about putting on a cute little dress, a hot pair of peep-toe platforms and getting down in the club?" Most of the time, I tell myself to shut up and keep running (it's my favorite song on my running playlist), but sometimes, I think that I am, in fact, an 18 year-old stuck in a 30 year-old body.

Today, my RE offered scientific evidence of this fact: I produce eggs like a teenager. Seriously. Last time they started me on 125 IU, I produced so many follicles I thought my RE was going to call the Guinness Book. This time, she started me on the dubious amount of only 50 IU. When I went in for my appointment today, she looked wide-eyed at the screen and said, "How old are you again?" I replied, "Um, thirty." "Wow," she replied, "it looks like you're 18." (And she wasn't talking about my baby face. Although the medication does make me break out like a pre-pubescent version of myself.)

I'm not in danger of being Octomom again this time, though I'm still producing a few too many. So, she backed me off to 25 IU of Follistim, which is, she said, the lowest dose possible. It's practically non-existent. At least I'm saving a bit of money on the drugs. Bonus! Next appointment is Wednesday, and the IUI should be Saturday. What are my Thanksgiving plans, you ask? I'm getting knocked up artificial style.

It's what the holidays are all about.

Um...I Think I Just 'Outed' Myself

For the most part, I've kept my infertility issues between me, my husband, and a few close friends / family members. I have not talked about it publicly, and I certainly haven't ever posted anything on something as communal as Facebook. Until today. A "friend of a friend" posted this message on her status: can i get an 'amen' for all those who think pregnancy blows?!. (I'll even overlook the sad grammar and juvenile use of profanity.) Then, my sister, of all people, replies with the first wholehearted: Amen!!!. My sister! This is the sister that I get to see over the holidays, the one that I'm supposed to fawn over, congratulate, and smile with. And she thinks that pregnancy "blows"? You know what blows? INFERTILITY!

I have never begrudged those who are pregnant their joy and happiness. Posts that celebrate motherhood don't bother me - heck, if it weren't for motherhood, I wouldn't be here. I have been envious, sure, but have never said that they don't have the right to be excited. When they take that joy for granted, though, I take umbrage. I know that her comment was not meant for me, but I had to wonder how many of this woman's friends are struggling with infertility, and how much that comment may have hurt them. And the fact that my own sister, who should know at least a little bit about the pain of infertility and how lucky she truly is, was the first person to respond…it made me so sad and angry. I thought for a long time about how I wanted to respond. I came up with this:

There is nothing worse than wanting something with your whole heart and then having to listen to those who have it, complain about it. If they only knew…

I thought it was pretty decent. It conveyed some of my emotions: disappointment, sadness, vulnerability, longing…and yet did not accuse anyone or point fingers directly.

I got a wealth of responses, not only from my friends, but from other women I'm not particularly close to who have been effected by infertility. They offered the one thing that they knew could help - virtual hugs. They know that there are no words that can ease this brand of hurt.

It feels good to be out - people should be reminded every once in a while of how damn lucky they are. And they also need to know that there are appropriate channels for their whining - and a public forum like Facebook is not necessarily the place. (It would be like me whining that "having a loving husband is soooo time consuming" to all of my single friends. Cry me a river, they'd say.

It is good to know, though, that I have the support that I do. This week, I'm going to need it. Every finger should be crossed...and toes, too.

(The photo is of sweet pea blossoms, which are some of the sweetest-smelling flowers in all the world. You should plant some.)

Happy Un-Birthday to ME!

I should preface this post by repeating: It's not my birthday. It did, however, really feel like it today! No joke - the universe was trying to tell me something today, and that something was: "You are loved and respected, and everything is going to be okay." After yesterday, I needed that.

Seriously. I was about to have a meltdown about how to teach MLA works cited to 11-year olds (damn you, CSAP), when suddenly, one of my students walked in. She had saved a bunch of her Halloween candy for me because we always joke about her being my "adopted daughter" during the holidays because I don't have any kids of my own. Yes, a child actually GAVE me her candy. Adorable! Then, only two hours later, my paraprofessional (whose daughter works at a posh thrift store up north) came in with a bag of ultra-awesome sunglasses and told me I could pick a pair. So, I selected a sweet little pair of Dior (I've never owned anything that I could see in Style Magazine in my life) sunglasses. Amazing! Then, my running buddy and good friend came in and dropped a bag of homemade zucchini bread on my desk. So fresh it was practically warm. Unbelievable! Later in the day, when I emailed everyone at school to ask for nominations for a "cool co-worker" award (I'm president of the Social Committee at work), TWO people wrote back that they wanted to nominate ME! Fantastic! Lastly, my nurse at the RE only had to stick me once instead of twice or three times for my bloodwork (I have a "rolling" vein). Marvelous!

I feel loved. This IUI is going to work. There are too many people rooting for me for it to fail. Come on ovaries, let's get going…

A Few of My Favorite Things

Infertility makes for some awkward holiday plans. Yet again, my body has dictated where and when I can travel, and as a result I'm here while my husband is back in the cold climate of the Midwest. Thanksgiving will fall at the same time as my date with a plastic implement, so neither hubby nor I can go visit family during this time. I'm not too worried about it. It's no secret that I despise Nebraska in the winter months (no offence, Huskers), and we'll be back in California in just a few weeks to see my family, so I'm actually unconcerned with the whole situation. In fact, since the hubby is gone for a week, I’m allowed to do all of my favorite things.

Today, I was more productive on a weekend than I have been in a long time. I began knocking two things from my "101 in 1,001" list (learning to crochet a baby blanket for my sister and writing my first novel for NaNoWriMo), got some excellent books from the library, went grocery shopping, baked a coffee cake, and even did some dishes. (If you knew me better, that last task would seem much more impressive.) Ooh! I even bought a copy of 'Ice Castles' at the grocery store for only $5.99 and plan on watching it at least once, perhaps twice in the next seven days.

I'm also waiting for my good friend, CD1, to show up to the girl party. It's been showing up on Saturdays for the last 5 cycles, so I was kinda thinking there was something magical about this day, but I guess the fun is over and now it's back to guessing what day it will start. Sigh. Even though I "knew" that this wouldn't be the month (it's been au-natural thanks to a canceled IUI), my optimism never ceases.

Well, I guess it'll be back to shooting myself with Follistim next week. Hooray! At least now I'll have Robby Benson to keep me company. (Seriously? You don't know who that is? You must watch that movie. It's a classic.)

Okay, Now I'm Frustrated...

I have seen a lot of blog posts about how frustrating it can be when mothers write posts about their love of pregnancy, their kids, or a ridiculous maternity-themed forward. I personally don't feel angry when people do that, because (I know, I'm playing devil's advocate here, but I still recognize them as devilish) I post plenty of information about my husband and my job - two things that not everyone is privileged to have. There are plenty of women, my Facebook friends included, who do not have a loving husband, an adorable house, and a job that brings them satisfaction. But I'm not going to stop posting about it. So that doesn't bother me (though I can certainly understand how it could). I have to admit, though, that this post really did: "I love it when God works in such a way that you have NO DOUBT that HE'S in charge..."

Really? REALLY? I wanted to write back:

Like the way he works when he gives babies to crack addicts and a broken uterus to me ? Like the way he makes me spend $2,000 on each dead-end attempt to be a mother while others have babies for the price of a cocktail? I get it - YOU'RE IN CHARGE! I've worked hard to get where I am, so when do I get to be in charge of MY OWN life?

Please note that I'm sorry if you are a religious individual and this offends you. I just have a hard time believing that God, any God, is deliberately DOING this to me, to assert "His" power or otherwise. I don't really believe in prayer - I believe in introspection and betterment of the self. (I am not an atheist, by the way, I am agnostic.) I simply do not think that God is watching over us, making decisions about our lives that we don't understand. Children with leukemia? Violence against women? Racism? Those are not good decisions that anyone would make.

I am a good person. I work hard, love my husband and my family, care deeply for my students, and strive to make my world a better place every day. If that doesn't warrant being allowed to start a family, I don't know what does. Maybe I should try promiscuity and terrific amounts of alcohol. It seems to work for plenty of other people...

Everybody's Wearing it This Season

One of my favorite blogs is hosting a giveaway to a super-adorable clothing company that I love and regularly buy from. On her website, the blogger has on a really cute coat…that barely fits over her prego belly. I stuck with her when she announced that she was pregnant, but it seems that pregnancy infiltrates every aspect of a woman's life and blog. (I can only read so many "how to turn your boring regular t-shirt into a nifty maternity t-shirt!" or "how to knit baby booties with organic yarn" posts. It seems that everyone is pregnant, though, and this blogette and her followers are no exception. Despite the fact that the jacket would always seem like maternity wear to me (thanks to the photo of her looking adorable in it), I decided to go for it. Then I started reading through all the other entries. "It would look so cute and cover my baby bump from the cold!" one chirped. "I'm pregnant to and love to see cute clothes for us!" quipped another. Oh, geez. Like you need anything else in the world to make you excited about pregnancy. Bite me.

So it seems like this season's fashion accessory is a big belly. Since I can't get a belly by being pregnant…would a beer belly suffice? Helllooo New Belgium 2°Below Winter Ale…yum. Maybe I'll even post pictures by the week of my growing midsection. How adorable is that!? (BTW - husband says, "not so adorable." Dang.)

(The picture is of my husband's hops, by the way, which he uses to make beer. Little trivia for you.)

I Am So Going to Kick A** At Being a Mom

I could never be tricked into saying that I'm a patient person - generally. If anything, I am the one who pulls the brownies out of the oven 10 minutes early and still enjoys eating them even though they're not even remotely done except on the very outside. But there is one area in which I virtually EXUDE patience: in my classroom. I can't count (no, seriously, that's why I'm an English teacher) the amount of times I explain a menial task every day. While I don't tolerate laziness, I do appreciate an honest question, and am so happy to help the student who helps himself. I revel in explaining a concept to a student and watch as they use their newfound knowledge.

I am going to be such a patient mom. I will explain the world to them with the calm, even voice of a teacher, and the heart of a mother. I'm not totally delusional - I know there will be days when I am tired, frustrated, and short with my kids. But, I will be acclimated to the rigors of dealing with dozens (if not hundreds) of questions a day. I'm waiting with bated breath to hear that one beautiful question that every two-year-old utters: "Why?"

Evil, Thy Name is Public Park on a Saturday

There are a few things that an infertile woman should simply NOT do, including trolling garage sales (Yes, they are selling a crib and baby clothes, no you may not ask if it comes with the baby), attend a baby shower sober (Did I just call you a "miserable self-centered trophy wife" after you asked me when I was going to have some little ones of my own like my sister? It was totally the cosmopolitan talking!), and shop for pregnancy tests in a public pharmacy (Yes, you little underage weasel, we're both looking for the "pee sticks", and no, I'm not going to be relieved when it comes out negative - I actually know and love my baby daddy). Ahem.

But the number one thing you should NOT do on a Saturday is hang out at a public park. Maybe it's the economy, maybe it's the weather, but I can tell you that just about everyone and their progeny hang out there. They're on the swings, in the trees, feeding the ducks…you are surrounded by kids. Sticky, dirty, giggly little humans with anonymous parents. You can almost see yourself calling out to one of them, watching them turn to you with a scraped knee, or pushing those funny little swings for babies. But alas, you sit on the outside of it all.
And then you get on your bike, ride away, and feel the wind on your forehead. You watch the sunlight cascade through the changing leaves, hear the rush of the water beside you, and feel your strong body propel you along the path. While it hurts at the moment, the ache in your heart recedes with every pedal. And you know…your time will come.

(Yes, I made that picture all by myself. Too much time off can be fun.)

Sometimes We Do Things So That People Don't Know that We Don't Want to Do Them

"I know why you denied my sister. When I was younger... you used to hold my arm when I walked. Then suddenly you stopped. One day, I even tripped in your presence and nearly fell. I was faking, of course, but still you did not hold me. Sometimes we don't do things we want to do so that others won't know we want to do them."
-Ivy Walker, "The Village"

I love this quote from 'The Village'. I think that the opposite is also true - sometimes we do things just to cover up the fact that we don't want to do them. Here's a good example:

My sister is pregnant. I am pissed. The grandparents are ecstatic. I am bitter. And so the paradoxical emotions dance around my sister's delightful news. (I knew it was coming.) I wasn't able to make it to my sister's first baby shower (dude, it was the last week of school - you can't miss that, even if you're dying), so I know that I need to start saving money for the second one. When you're the infertile older sister, you know that everyone else knows that you're disappointed. But, to keep up appearances, you have to continue to smile, coo, and complement. Last time my sister had a baby, I designed the announcements. I love doing things like that, and I wanted everyone to know that I was fine with her having a baby and me only having dogs. I can tell you, though, that the last thing in the world I'd like to be doing right now is designing an announcement for someone else. I should be doing it for myself. That should be my name on the paper, my baby's face in the picture. But it's not. This time, I'm going to have to up the ante. It's time to whip out the sewing machine and hand make some adorable baby goodies. Put extra effort into it. Make sure everyone knows that you're well-adjusted. Don't let on that you're dying inside. Suppress the longing in your heart that won't let you go a day without wondering what your future holds. Find the strength to hold on to hope, even while you're holding evidence in your arms that you are different.