Motherhood: It Ain't That Easy, or, My Eggs Are Too Old and No One Wants 'Em

I've been thinking a lot lately about all the moms out there who aren't yet moms, but who are desperate to be. They are moms in their minds, but not in the official sense. These women have been suffering through fertility treatments, riding emotional roller coasters, and dreaming of smelling that sweet baby breath only a new mom knows.

Yesterday we had some friends over, including our neighbors who had a baby girl a month ago. While everyone ate dinner outside, I held Baby Ainsley so her tired mommy could relax and take her time with her meal. I was alone in the house and cuddled her closely. She curled into me and I suddenly remembered holding my own girls as babies and how that spot just seemed made for them. Ainsley sighed a sweet baby sigh and nestled into my neck. I felt tears prick my eyes because as much as I would love to have another child, deep down I doubt I could handle it; and The Father Load says definitively whenever anyone asks us, "We're done."

It hurts my heart that some people are unable to have children. Either fertility treatments haven't worked or they've run out of money to continue them. Either adoption is taking a long time or it's impossible. Either they've suffered through miscarriages or had to consider surrogacy. There are so many reasons. And unless you've been there yourself, you don't think twice before asking someone questions like:

"So, when are you having kids?" or,
"When are you having another one?"

I recently filled out an application to be an egg donor. To be able to help someone have a baby really appeals to me. Sure, it might be hard knowing that somewhere out there someone with my genes/traits could come into existence and become part of a family I'd never meet; but the possibility of giving that gift, the gift of life, far outweighed any of my fears. To think about giving something so seemingly small that would mean so incredibly much literally kicked my ovaries into overdrive.

I was rejected, of course. At the age of 33, my eggs are "too old." Nevermind that because I myself required ART (Assisted Reproductive Technology) to conceive, I'm not the ideal donor. But let it be said there was nothing wrong with my eggs---my body just won't release them on its own. So someone could just go in there and get them. Easy peasy, right? Apparently not.

As I held Ainsley yesterday, a lone tear slipped down my cheek and I brushed it away quickly. To know that I cannot give this gift pains me. My husband was distraught when I confessed it to him because I hadn't consulted him beforehand. It was a moot point because I'd been rejected, but it's also my body. Admittedly, Ainsley reminds me that I will never again hold my own baby. My twins are 4 1/2 and their "babyhood" was marred by my exhaustion, stress, and always the sound of someone crying. Juggling two at once made me feel as if there wasn't enough of me to go around and neither daughter got enough snuggling or physical closeness with me/us. I relished my time with Ainsley and relinquished her only because I had to take my dog out to poop.

Motherhood, raising children----is a hard job. But becoming a mother, the art of conception, is an entirely different matter and can often be far more difficult than most people realize.

I am a mother. For this I am eternally grateful. I don't ever take it for granted.

And for all of you who are still trying to become mothers, or who feel like giving up---I'm so sorry I can't help you.

But I can be your friend. I will listen. And I will love you and give you big hugs, even if they are virtual or via telephone.

Have you ever considered giving a gift like this?

**Please don't forget to vote for me for Top Mommy Blogger of the Year! There's a button at the top of my blog that will take you there, or you can go here and vote for The Mother Load! You may vote once daily between now and 6/6/10. Thank you!**

Happy Go Lucky---and Remembering Those Ducks

Yesterday I was doing some shopping for Shortmama's Spring Swap, and of course I also found a little something for myself--an inspiring set of earrings from one of my favorite stores, Stuff. I love Stuff because it features the work of local artists, sells lots of environmentally-friendly, or "green" things, and there are always plenty of unique gifts to choose from.

(it may be hard to see, but the top one reads "lucky" and the bottom one reads "happy.")

I splurged on these as a reminder, because sometimes I get so bogged down by the daily grind that I forget how lucky I am.

This time of year the grass is getting greener, the birds begin singing their sweet songs again, and our allergies turn us into snotty, sneezy fools. And I'm reminded of the ducks that befriended me in late March of 2005.

One day while I was getting a drink in the kitchen, I heard some quacking coming from my front door. I thought I was simply delusional from all the fertility drugs coursing through my veins. But I looked out the window and sure enough, saw this pair cruising my front yard:

They let me get close and feed them by the 2nd day (I'd prepared with lots of cheap Wonderbread just in case).

We don't have the photos to prove it, but they also later ate the bread right out of my hand...

(I look like total crap, but in my defense I was going through a lot and was in a funk)

These ducks were the only reason I got out of bed every day during the last week of March, 2005. It was the end of the road---our second round of IVF (in-vitro fertilization). I was convinced that like all the other things we'd tried before, it was going to fail. But the ducks kept coming back each morning. I concluded that they were a couple, a male and a female, and sure enough I discovered their nest nearby with several eggs inside.

These ducks were sent to me. We needed each other. We needed hope. Just as they were foraging for food and tending to their eggs, my own little embryos were growing in a Petri dish in the lab:

Those ducks kept me alive that week. I looked forward to their visits and waited anxiously for them each morning. They didn't disappoint. I talked to them, told them about my fears in low whispers while they gobbled the hunks of bread from my hands. Their dark, probing eyes consoled me while tears dripped down my cheeks. They quacked that things were going to be alright. They embraced me so easily and so fully that I began to feel my dream of becoming a mother was just within my reach.

Then we got the happy call from the embryologist that we were ready to go. My doctor transferred two really good lookin' embryos to my uterus. And during my mandatory bed rest afterwards, my mom (who flew into town to make sure I remained horizontal) faithfully fed my ducks for me.

About 18 weeks later I looked like this:

And now we have these (pictured with The Father Load):

We are indeed happy. And lucky.