The Childlessness Syndrome

I think I have it ... The Childlessness Syndrome.

My 35th birthday is coming up very soon, and my ovaries feel every tick of the clock. I'm approaching that invisible wall where once you're past it the risks involved in starting a family multiply and keep on multiplying every year. Gestational diabetes, multiple births, infertility, birth defects, chromosomal abnormalities, low birth weight/early births, high blood pressure issues ... the list goes on and on. I'm already facing infertility issues and a family history of premature births and early menopause. I so desperately wanted to have kids before I was 30 and beat the multiple clocks that are ticking away. Now that I'm fast approaching 35, the pressure is on, but there isn't really anything I can do about it.

The doctors have told me that I'm unlikely to get pregnant without help via either IU or IVF procedures, and my insurance only covers a small fraction of IU and nothing on IVF. The doctors also told me that even if one of these procedures works so that I do become pregnant, the chance of a full-term, live birth is very slim. Hearing that, logically and emotionally, I have to ask myself is it worth it? My mother miscarried two daughters, and my older brother only lived for 6 hours after he was born. I was her miracle baby who survived, but she still grieves for those three who didn't make it.

With the chances being so small, should I put myself and Steffie through that grueling and expensive process? I just don't know. I don't know. I know I would survive the disappointments and potential losses, but would we as a couple survive the emotional roller coaster? I would like to say absolutely yes, but I've seen so many couples torn apart by these sorts of things. My wife is the love of my life, and I won't sacrifice her and our relationship for the slimmest possibility of a biological child.

The thought that I may never be able to carry a child, to give birth to him or her when I've wanted it for so long fucking hurts. And if I'm being completely honest with myself, it doesn't raise my self esteem any either. I know intellectually and logically that it isn't my fault. I didn't do anything to cause these medical problems. I've been very careful about my reproductive health. I've never missed a yearly check-up. I was always particular about having safe sex to avoid disease, infections, etc. My weight could be better in order to potentially improve some hormone levels and general mobility, but otherwise I am in very good health. Still the thoughts creeps in from time to time that if I had started trying to have children earlier before my thyroid problems developed that maybe this could have been avoided, that starting birth control so early and trying that horrible depo shot maybe have permanently screwed up my hormone production/levels, that if I weren't broken, Steffie could have children of her own. Not having kids makes family functions awkward as hell, and my mother resents me not giving her grandchildren yet.  Logically I know there is nothing that I could have done that would change what is happening or isn't happening now. I know that it isn't my fault. But ... sometimes it's so very hard to remember that.

I've thought about surrogacy as an option. I've even had more than one friend make the offer to be our surrogate. I have mixed emotions about it. If my eggs were viable (the doctor says there is a good chance they aren't), then I would consider it further. If we were able to use biological material from both of us, I would definitely want to go with a surrogate that we don't know rather than a friend. As much as our friends tell us it wouldn't matter, that the child would be completely ours, I would worry that at some point it would turn into, why are you raising the child I carried this way or that way, etc. I don't want to lose a good friend over that, and I won't have someone else tell me how to care for my child. Sticky situations abound. Excluding the possibility of using my own eggs, I don't think I would do it. It would bother me if our child was biologically Steffie's but not mine. What if something were to happen down the road where we split? Then there is the argument that the child is more hers than mine, and child custody just gets ugly so quick without that extra layer of ownership. Maybe that is selfish of me, but it is how I feel.

I would rather at that point look at an adoption instead. And then comes a whole other set of potential problems. We are a lesbian couple who have pretty eclectic social and religious views. In a world that likes to make the adoption process doubly hard for anyone who doesn't fit into the one size fits all box of white, heterosexual, practicing Christian wholesomeness, I know adoption will not be an easy process for us. We both work full time, and we do not have a huge amount of money in savings after buying a new home this past year. I don't know what the requirements are now, but I know at one point adoption required one parent to be able to be off work for 6 months to a year to bond with and acclimate the child to his/her new family. I don't know if this is still the case, but if it is, neither of us can afford to be out of work that long.

And then there are the completely selfish lifestyle changes to consider when asking myself if I want to make the changes necessary to start a family. We are very socially involved with our friends and hobbies. We are part of multiple alternative lifestyle groups, we have very active gaming hobbies, and we keep strange hours. We hate being fully clothed at home. We have sex toys and latex clothing and adult oriented literature scattered liberally throughout our house. We have a dungeon and fetish closet. We host parties. We spend hours or days at a time playing tabletop games at three or four day conventions. We like to pick up and go whenever time and work allows. Neither of our families live close enough to us that we could look to them for an occasional babysitter so that we could still participate in those activities on a limited basis. Finding a babysitter for even something as small as a night out would be an interesting feat. It would be honestly a very big change that would have to happen if we choose to have children. Thinking about those parts of my life being greatly reduced or going away completely brings a whole other bag of mixed emotions.

So ... child or no child in my future? I don't know. Am I happy without a human child? Yes. I have my wife who loves me and who I love enormously. I have a puppy who is decidedly spoiled because of the very fact that we do not have humie babies. My life is full of social activities, friends, and family. I have a job that I really enjoy and a new house that we are working very hard to make into the welcoming home that we want it to be. My life isn't broken without children. I can be and am happy without kids. Maybe it is just time to decide that they aren't going to be part of my complete. That's just the way it is. Time will tell better than any hypothesizing I can do on my own now.

The Lie of Growing Up

When it comes to our relationships with our parents, do we ever really get to grow up?

I’m adult woman. I've spent almost as much of my life on my own as I did in my parents' home. Why does the thought of being in the house with my mother for six days create such a violently negative reaction? Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. I would do anything for her. But … we rarely see eye-to-eye on anything.

Our relationship has been comparable to a destructive force of nature since I was old enough to refuse to wear the endless supply of frilly dresses she bought me. I was six years old. Things have only gone downhill since then. We didn't agree on what I wore, what toys I played with, or what activities I wanted to participate in. As I grew older she agreed even less with what I wore, she detested the people I chose as friends, and let’s not even start on how she felt about the few people I dated who were brave enough to come over to my house for a visit. Now … it’s pretty much the same, but she has more to dislike. Now she can add not linking where I live, what I do for a living, and the fact that I do not visit often enough.

I only visit my parents once a year for Christmas, and I’m a ball of nerves leading up to every visit. I should have ulcers for the hours of worry that goes into each holiday “vacation.” I purposefully limit our trips to three days plus travel just to reduce the time for conflict. You see I say reduce time and not reduce the chance of conflict. I know it’s going to happen at some point during the visit, but with only three days, it doesn't happen as frequently.

I think a lot of our continued conflict boils down to the fact that I've changed and she hasn't.

I spent the first twenty something years of my life being peacekeeper in our household. I took the verbal abuse that was dished out, and I held my tongue. My mother is like a hurricane. Once she gets going, there’s no stopping her until she’s done. Growing up, I dealt with that by making myself as unnoticeable as possible with the theory that if she doesn't notice me, she won’t start yelling at me for something. If she wasn't able to pick the fight then she didn't have the opportunity to push my buttons and engage me. Engaging in those fights only left me frustrated and hurt and crying.

I grew up, I moved a little farther away with each relocation, and in so doing slowly distanced myself from the chaos. At this point in my life, I’m just not willing to take the abuse and stay quiet. I don’t sit by meekly. I give as good as I get, but I like to be sneaky about it. I know if she starts an argument and I take the bait, it’s only going to end badly for me. She always wins in those situations. But if I never engage, I take that away from her. Nothing makes her angrier than someone walking away from her attempt at starting a fight. I hang up the phone, and I don’t answer the return calls. I delete the emails and Facebook posts. I disengage before anything can start.

I’m her only child, and I've decided if she wants to keep me in the loop she has to respect my right to make my own decisions even if she doesn't agree with them. I've made good choices and bad choices, but ultimately, I’m the one that has to live with the consequences. I refuse to be controlled and manipulated. I've made calculated decisions in my life to try to alleviate that constant strain, and I've been pretty successful at it overall.

And, yet, here I am feeling my stomach tighten into knots at the thought of being in the house with her for six days. No wife with me to put my mother on good behavior. No car of my own to use as a quick escape route. No support network to act as a buffer between what I know to be true and what I’m sure I will hear her say at some point during my stay. No alcohol or sex to take my mind off of things. 

It’s not a situation I want to put myself in, but I need to be there for more important reasons. It’s something I have to do. I'm not a teenager any longer pushing boundaries and establishing independence. That battle has already been fought. I grew up. An adult child and her mother at some point have to be able to set it all aside and be the friends they couldn't be during the growing period, right? And so I have to tell myself the lie that everything will be different this time. To quote one of my favorite movies and pieces of literature, "I like the pretty lies."