Only three more days of Christmas music this year and then my Christmas radio station will switch back to playing Genesis and Air Supply. I drank in “O Holy Night” on my ride home tonight. It feels like an old friend is going back home after an extended visit.

Bye, Christmas. I’ll miss you. Please write.

And tonight marked the last night of Chanukkah. We lit the candles for the final time and sang a rousing off-key version of “Chanukkah, Oh Chanukkah.” I’ll leave out the chanukkiah for a few more days on the pretense that I’m just too lazy to pack it back in the cabinet.

Sigh. This is a rainy, cold weekend. A perfect time for reading blogs.

Frances at Unyielding has a gorgeous post about the baby’s room. About the various incarnations of the room–from empty to her stepson’s room to a gym. And now the room will hold the child that they will adopt. She has a beautiful passage about her mother coming for a visit and she states: “I’ve been so angry with her all my life but now I am hopeful as I sit in my baby’s room; wondering what my Mother will think of the mother that I am in my baby’s room.” That was such a gorgeous thought–wondering how her mother will view her as a mother. But you need to go to the post and read the thoughts from beginning to end.

For those who like to read and comment on the plethora of news articles that concern fertility, there is a new blog on the side bar on “in the news” called How to Make a Family. And it’s been interesting thus far. A good source for news stories (and I believe the blog is written by a journalist). Plus they have a link to an upcoming commercial for a pee stick.

The Cracked Pot had a post this week that included one of the most profound ideas I read all week. She states: “I was hit by this sensation of feeling that that will never happen to me. I look at other people’s babies, and feel like I’m never going to get there, that I’m just going to be waiting, and waiting, and waiting some more. And eventually I’ll be a shriveled up old lady, and no baby, just a pretty nursery, a closet full of clothes, and a freezer full of milk. I just can’t fully imagine getting to the travel stage (or hell, even the referral stage.) I keep waiting for someone to jump out from behind the curtain and yell “psych!” And really, after wanting this for so long (6.5 years) and actively trying for so long (18 months) – it’s almost like the wanting and the trying have become a way of life, and it will never, ever actually happen.” That final thought: that the wanting and trying have become a way of life. I thought about it all day.

Dosmamas had a post this week that completely stopped me in my tracks–and that is why I love blogs. Being exposed to someone else’s intimate thoughts makes you see the world in an entirely different light. They already have a son that was conceived by Charlotte using the sperm of her wife’s (S) brother. They are now trying to have another child, but S is having trouble conceiving. This week, they discussed the idea of Charlotte carrying the child again. They are obviously awaiting the outcome of this recent insemination, but they’ve also started discussing the future. Without sharing all the reasons for why this decision is difficult, Charlotte does admit: “I don’t know if S or I can give up the possibility of her ever being pregnant or giving birth. It makes me very sad.” It is not unique in the sense that it is an emotional process many infertile women go through as they try to resolve their infertility. Especially if their infertility leads to paths that do not include getting to experience a pregnancy. But what made this situation so unique and what made me sit with it all day in my heart, turning it over, is that S and Charlotte are both women–both supposed to be able to carry a child. And the heartache that must bring to not being able to escape the infertility for moments at a time when you shut the door to the house because your wife is pregnant. It wasn’t a question–I was the only person in the house who could carry a child and all the pregnant women of the world were on the other side of that front door. And my heart went out to the two mamas as they navigate this new development. I hope this insemination works and they both get to experience pregnancy. And barring that, I hope that they come to a perfect peace as they conceive (or choose a different path to) their next child. Sending good thoughts their way on New Years this year.

Lastly, you’ll probably pee in your pants a little if you go over to read (and sing) the Infertile 12 Days of Christmas that was composed at BigP and Me. But it’s worth the underwear change.

Karaoke Diva sent me an interesting clip that was commentary on Angelina Jolie’s recent appearance on Larry King Live:

KING: Some other aspects of our extremely talented guests — you have two adopted children, right? What’s that like?

JOLIE: It’s the same as my biological child. They’re — I have three, and Maddox — he’s five and he’s from Cambodia, and Zahara is two, almost, and she’s Ethiopian, and Shiloh is six months. And they are all just like everybody. I love my kids — they’re funny, and they’re magnificent, and —

KING: The late Bob Considine (ph) — the Chicago writer — wrote, “I have four children; two are adopted — I forget which two.”

JOLIE: That’s right. You really do. And I honestly thought, when I was pregnant, I thought, god, I hope it doesn’t feel different. Because I was worried. And it didn’t feel different — it doesn’t at all.

KING: What do you make of the fuss over Madonna adopting a young African boy?

JOLIE: I don’t know all the details and we’re not close friends, so I wasn’t able to speak with her. I only understand that we all have to be very — everybody who adopts — it’s a difficult thing, to adopt, probably more difficult in many ways than it should be. But it’s great that it is out there. And you have to go through many levels in order to do that.

KING: It should be hard.

JOLIE: It should — it should be hard to be a parent, period. It should be — you know, you shouldn’t…

KING: They ought to have a test for it.

JOLIE: I mean, yes, you’re saying — and I go through many, many things in order to adopt. I’m fingerprinted, I’m checked, I go through home studies. I go through everything to prove I’m a decent citizen, I’m a good human being.That doesn’t — that didn’t happen to me when I gave birth. You know? So it’s interesting that there’s no background check on you when you bring a child into your home in that way. But — but I think, you know, that there’s — it was a country that does not have foreign adoptions usually. And so I think she’s–I’m sure–smart enough to know that that was going to be unusual.

Jolie’s comments during the interview reminded me of the line Keanu Reeves delivers in the movie, Parenthood: “You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car – hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they’ll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father.”

I disagree with Contactmusic.com’s take on the interview: “Angelina Jolie insists adoptive parents are more fit to raise a child than biological parents, because their background and personality is thoroughly scrutinised to see if they’re suitable for the challenge.” She didn’t say anything close to that. Instead, she was pointing out the hoops adoptive parents jump through that are absent from the world of biological parents.

It is interesting that there aren’t background checks. There’s no one turning to you in the hospital and saying that you’re too fat or too old or too damaged to parent. Yet countries set up stringent rules on who they deem worthy to adopt children.

China recently changed their rules to exclude many people–not only single parents, but also “those who are obese, disfigured or on antidepressant medication. Applicants who are divorced or had their marriage annulled must wait five years after remarriage, and first-time couples must have been married for two years before becoming eligible, the rules stipulate. Homosexuals are excluded from adoption. Both prospective parents must have body mass indexes under 40 — in other words, they cannot be morbidly obese.”

I question some of the hoops that parents go through who take the adoption route. Why is it permissible to have that level of judgment within adoption, but we wouldn’t dream of making some of the same rules for biological parents? Would the world be up in arms if government officials were entering the hospital and removing newborn children from parents who are “obese, disfigured or on antidepressant medication”?

And how many Americans would currently be parents if all of the rules governing the China adoption program (which is not the only program in the world with these limits) were suddenly in place in America?

I can’t really put my finger on the “why” since it isn’t determined by genetics, but there is a tinge of something akin to eugenics in this new ruling. Instead of weeding out the “undesirable” in order to create a race of blond-haired blue-eyed children, the Chinese government is weeding out the “undesirable” in order to create a community of slim, heterosexual, married adoptive parents. The government has the right to limit their program, and certainly no person has the “right” to be able to adopt (adoption is a reality of the world at large coming together to help raise a child–it isn’t a system to create parents but rather one that allows people who can help to step forward to aid that child). Yet the new regulations smack a little too much of Nazi Germany to make me feel comfortable.

I am all for determining the fitness of parents–but that fitness is directly tied to having sound parenting techniques and responsibility in regards to the child. It’s not determined by weight or having four limbs or being free of mental illness. Nor is it determined by arbitrary characteristics such as IQ, hair colour, or height. And I guess that’s what worried me since, as Keanu Reeve’s character pointed out, any asshole can be a parent–that is, as long as they don’t engage in adoption.

What if, amid all the wrapped and ribboned gifts there was a little jewelry box straight from the great Infertile Santa and his barren reindeer himself (he’s the gift giver at my IF Christmas) given to all with unexplained infertility–the gift of a diagnosis? You’d grab it, right? It would be the first gift you’d open because you’d finally have an answer.

Unless what you want is not an answer but a solution. The key to unlocking your uterus and getting a baby to stay in there for nine months.

I know the grass is usually greener on the other side, but regardless of which side of fence you’re currently standing, the methods for getting one pregnant are usually the same regardless of diagnosis. You would still be taking the same medications and doing the same procedures, only now with understanding the reason behind the actions and what these drugs and procedures are supposed to be correcting or circumventing. A diagnosis may save you some time and catapult you past certain steps (no reason for an IUI if your tubes are blocked). There are some diagnoses that come with specific solutions that may or may not be the key that turns the lock–certainly clearing up endo or removing a septum is going to help increase your chances if your diagnosis is endometriosis or a uterine anomaly.

And there are some diagnoses that make the decision for you so that you can stop trying in peace. Though medical science has a funny way of still bringing up the what ifs even in the face of poor statistics. But, regardless, there are times when a diagnosis is helpful to have in the sense that it gives you limits. It can help you move onto a different path.

But beyond these basic advantages to having a diagnosis, at the end of the day, it’s the same procedures and medications used on both sides of the fence.

The other side of the diagnosis is the guilt and the loss of hope. What is wrong is not always fixable, which is why sometimes answers just suck. I don’t want an answer; I want a solution. Even if your reason for infertility is treatable, the treatments don’t always work.

It’s just me writing from the other side with a diagnosis in hand, looking at the unexplained side and thinking, “maybe it would be easier for both parties if no one knew why.” Because while you don’t want it to be the other person’s problem, you also don’t want it to be you. I didn’t want my husband do have to undergo any painful procedures or be saddled with guilt AND I didn’t want that for myself. In the end, his SA came back fine and my tests came back every time with another answer. Low progesterone. High FSH. Poor responder. Clotting disorder (hey, that almost rhymed!).

Even though my husband has never made me feel guilty and has been only supportive. And even though I don’t feel guilty that my body overproduces cholesterol putting me at risk for a heart attack or feel guilt over any other medical issue that indirectly affects my husband, I feel so guilty that I’m the reason we can’t conceive. I’m the reason we spend all this money and I’m the reason that for a long time, we had no children. And if I don’t go through all of this, I’m the reason we won’t have children. Sometimes, I feel like I have to put my body through treatments simply because it is my fault. That if my husband wanted to choose adoption, I could go that route. But since this is all my fault, I should be willing to do anything to conceive if my husband wants a child biologically related to him.

Which I know isn’t rational and believe me, my head knows something much different from my heart. But my heart sometimes has the louder voice. It’s almost as if my head speaks to me in my calm, Maryland accent and my heart yells at me in the voice of my Hungarian great-grandmother. And guess who wins out in a shouting contest?

But, again, this is just the grass always being greener on the other side. Which is why I want to hear the other side too. Plus, Kris, who is seriously tuned into the same wavelength as me (and we both jotted down this idea to one another back at the beginning of November), said that she was kicking around this idea too. Start writing, Kris!

Head over to Infertile Fantasies to learn more about Bea’s completely online, completely brilliant, and truly international (with participants ranging from Singapore to Australia to the USA) film festival. And while you’re there, watch her short (but make sure you’re not drinking anything at the time because you’ll probably spit it out on your computer screen while you’re laughing…)

The real story of Chanukkah is about a war and a rededication, but at some point, the focus changed and now the point of the holiday is miracles. Namely, the miracle of the oil. In every synagogue, there is a light that is constantly lit (ner tamid) and when the people entered the Temple after the battle, they found that all the barrels of oil had been destroyed out of spite. Except for one. And the miracle is that this little barrel of oil, which should have only lasted a day or two, lasted for eight nights, giving them enough time to obtain more oil and keep the ner tamid aflame.

Which is a miracle. It should have only lasted for one night. That was the expectation and that was the norm. But it lasted for eight nights–something completely unexpected and out of the ordinary. And by default, the word miracle refers to circumstances brought about by a higher power. G-d helped the oil last for eight nights.

In the beginning, I used to refer to my children as miracles. They weren’t supposed to happen and yet they did (fine, fine, with medical assistance. But still). I thought their birth was so special that it should be equated with burning bushes and seraphim visitors. But here is the problem with the idea of miracles. By definition, these unusual occurrences happened to specific people. These incidents are unique and unusual. G-d didn’t reveal himself to everyone in Israel at that time: only to the select few. Who were special. Who could accept the miracle and bring it forward. And once I took a step back from the word, I started seeing that in the end, it was exclusive.

Why were we more deserving of a miracle than anyone else? Everyone deserves to parent who wants to parent. Our bodies are supposed to work–we’re supposed to create eggs and sperm. They’re supposed to join together. And just because statistically it isn’t a perfect system, it doesn’t mean that when it works, it’s a miracle. It means that the system worked. Sperm are supposed to fertilize eggs. They are supposed to implant in the wall of the uterus. The baby is supposed to remain in the womb for 9 months. And while all of these steps are wonderous–they aren’t miracles. Because miracles are what comes when nothing is expected.

When we’re working for something and we achieve it, it’s not truly a miracle. It’s the event that couldn’t happen, that was absolutely outside of the realm of possibility, that needs to be reserved as the miracle. Once we start seeing miracles everywhere, they cease to hold importance.

And I know this isn’t a popular view. Ask any parent who has been waiting a long time to have a child and is finally holding the result of all of that hard work/pain/science if they are holding a miracle and they will say, “yes.” Simply because it seems miraculous–a child that is the result of so many threads coming together: science catching up with the body, the enhanced follicle, the concentrated sperm, the assisted hatching, the blood thinners, the cerclage. Except that all of these threads could come together and do come together on a daily basis. And it is awe-inspiring. And it is moving. And it is emotional. But I hesitate to use the term miracle.

Because in the end, we can accept that awe-inspiring things happen to people who have worked hard and also accept that sometimes those same awe-inspiring things don’t happen for another person who has put out an equal effort. We recognize that there are multiple factors at play determining success–the person who responds well to chemotherapy and the person who doesn’t. The person who recovers and the person who doesn’t.

But miracles are random. Miracles are out of our hands. And they’re doled out by a higher power. And I hesitate now to ever call my children miracles because while I find them awe-inspiring, while I am moved just watching them play, while I become emotional speaking about them, I also know that if I were to see it as a miracle, I would be placing myself in a more deserving category than someone else. And we’re not more deserving. It’s just that one of those random factors brought us to this point rather than a different outcome.

Infertility often brings about a religious crisis. Especially when you receive the message that G-d is doling out parenthood. When it’s a series of random factors, it’s much more tolerable to think that you didn’t win. But when a higher power could make it happen for you, but is choosing not to intercede? That’s a bit more difficult to swallow. Because it makes one wonder why they’re not deserving. What did they do that made G-d turn their back on them? What didn’t they do that they were supposed to do in order to be blessed?

There is a story in Judaism that is often used to explain why G-d doesn’t intercede on earth. After that major flood that sent Noah packing the animals two by two into his ark, G-d made a promise that he would never force his opinion on the earth again. He would sit back and watch. He would offer counsel. He’d give strength and hope to people merely with his presence. He wasn’t going to wipe out the human population again in order to restore goodness, BUT on the flip side, he also wasn’t going to swoop in and remove the bad. We couldn’t pick and choose and only have him fixing mistakes and making things well. Therefore, humans were given control to fuck up things as much as they wished. But we could also be affected by chance.

He made a rainbow to sign that contract. Whenever we see a rainbow, we’re suppose to be reminded of that relationship. G-d is essentially a parent: he can’t remove terrible things from our life and he can’t make good things happen. But he can offer us strength just by letting us know that he’s on our side.

And I think I like that idea much more than I like the idea of miracles and G-d placing his/her hands into things. My mistakes are my own and my accomplishments are my own. And there is room for random chance blessing me with twins. But it was not divine intervention. I’m not more deserving than any other woman. I’ll leave the miracles to things like oil. And maybe peace in the Middle East.

That’s what has been on my mind this Chanukkah.