There is, of course, Rapunzel. And maybe your mind has shifted the story so you begin: “Once there was a girl who lived in a tower.” But that’s not where the story begins.

Once upon a time, there was a couple who could not have a baby and they were very sad. They lived in a beautiful house that was perfect in every way except that the baby’s room was empty. Their house looked out at fields and hills as well as a ethereally beautiful garden owned by a witch. One morning, as the wife looked out at the garden, she became consumed with the desire to taste the witch’s rampion (which is a type of leafy lettuce-like vegetable).

Her husband warned her that this was too dangerous, but his wife begged him to get her the rampion. She convinced herself that she would die if she couldn’t taste them. Wanting to make his wife happy, he snuck into the garden and stole a head of rampion. But after she tasted them, it only made her want another head of rampion. This time, when her husband went out to the garden, the witch was there.

He begged her for mercy and the witch agreed to give him his freedom on one condition. When his wife finally had a child, they needed to give the child to the witch to raise.

It was the cruelest adoption of all time. One childless woman forcing the other to give her what they both wanted so badly.

Of course, once the witch has the little girl (named Rapunzel which also means rampion), she places her in a tower. Some may look at the story and say she did it to keep Rapunzel safe and hold her close. A hard-won child. What infertile parent hasn’t had fears of losing what they’ve worked so hard to obtain? It starts when the pregnancy begins or when the adoption is within reach. And it continues, apparently, until they are well into adulthood. I’m not saying that it’s healthy, but it’s a pretty common refrain in the Land of If.

But working through her own fears borne out of infertility is not the way the story is presented. It’s the witch’s evilness. Her spite. Her ill-feelings towards poor Rapunzel.

The witch is a bitch.

All she wanted was to be a mother. Which is, of course, all Rapunzel’s mother wanted as well. And how does all of this apply to real life–to the woman who succeeds facing the woman who hasn’t yet. To the woman who still has chances to the woman who does not.

Sleeping Beauty.

Where do you begin?

A child was born and a fairy came to the baby naming and made this terrible wish…

But before that.

Once upon a time, there was a king and queen and they were very sad because they wanted a child and could not have one. There are no words in any language that can fully describe their sadness. They traveled the world, going on pilgrimages and to holy sites, but still, the queen could not get pregnant.

Until finally, one day, the queen had a daughter. There was a christening and everyone in the land was invited to the castle to see the baby. One fairy was not invited because no one had seen her for over 50 years. She was offended that she wasn’t invited and the slight could not be undone because the king and queen did not have enough covers for an extra fairy. So she made that terrible wish.

The queen who waited for so long for her child only to have her wished away. The lack of understanding between those who haven’t struggled and those who have.

The gingerbread man who was baked by a woman who couldn’t have a child.

Thumbelina who comes to her mother with the help of a fairy after a long struggle with infertility.

Snow White’s mother who longs for a daughter and then dies in childbirth.

Tom Thumb whose parents wish so hard for a child that they say they would love a baby–even if he were as small as their thumb.

12% of the human world is affected by infertility and pregnancy loss. Did you really think a comparable amount of the fairy tale world would go unscathed?

When we couldn’t conceive, our first instinct was to try treatments. It wasn’t that adoption wasn’t on our radar. We had even talked about adoption prior to ever trying to conceive. But when those first problems started cropping up, our choice was to sign over our bodies and hormone levels to the nearest fertility clinic rather than start the paperwork at one of the numerous adoption agencies. And if you asked me why, I don’t really have a good answer.

Because I wanted to experience pregnancy?

Because I wanted control over pre-birth conditions?

Finances?

Cultural expectations?

Really, I’m not entirely sure why we pointed our feet so firmly in the direction of our clinic. It certainly wasn’t something we truly discussed. It was just something that naturally happened.

In Embryo Culture, Beth Kohl asks an interesting question: “But what are the essential differences between us? Do people with a Welsh ancestry carry an adoption impulse, while Germans favour ART? Is a left-brained gal more likely than a right-brained one to seek out technological treatments? Beyond issues of affordability and access, how can some people resign themselves so easily to one option or the other?” (p. 64).

In other words, is it something preprogrammed within us that sets our limits or chooses our paths to parenthood? Are we predestined, when facing infertility to try one path first over another? To walk away from treatments altogether or stay for a ninth round of IVF?

I’ve said it before, but I’ve never been one who put much meaning behind first choices vs. best choices. The first thing we try is not necessarily the best fit nor does first mean “most desired.” There were plenty of men who came before Josh–a veritable parade of losers and mismatches–men I tried out because they seemed like a good idea at the time. But ultimately, the man who is the most important, the one who became my husband and became the most desired and most loved–was not my first choice. Or even my tenth choice or thirtieth choice. He was the end of a long twisty road of choices that brought us together. And I look at my children–present and future–in the same way. The first things we tried weren’t the best, but the actions that brought us together were the most desired.

But it’s an interesting thought that the paths we choose are somehow part of who we are starting at birth–starting before fertility is even on the table or choices need to be made. Your thoughts? I guess it boils down to whether our impulses, our gut decisions, are more nature or more nurture (since few things in life tend to be one and not the other).

Don’t think that the irony is lost on me that I’m writing this one day after writing about race and ethnicity. It’s always interesting when lines in the book that you’re reading crash into things happening in real life.

Updated at the bottom at 8:18 p.m.

My car was in urgent need of a cleaning. Which is code for “I’ve never washed the car and I park it outside and I’ve had it for three years.” But please don’t tell my father who always preaches good car care. Truly, the rain washes away a lot of shit. Just not all of the shit.

And as of late, there have been swarms of bees on my car when I go out in the morning. They scatter when I drive away and lay in wait for the moment I return. I turn off the engine and eight bees swoop down and start feasting on the pollen that streaks my hood.

Since it is my first time at the car wash, I pull up to the pay booth a little dazed and uncertain of what happens next. The woman working the register makes faces at the Wolvog and ChickieNob and finally says, “they’re really cute.”

The Wolvog, ever the flirt when he sees a blond, smiles shyly and says, “thank you!”

And this is a transcript of the rest of the conversation.

Woman: Are they mixed?

Me: Mixed? Boy/girl twins? Yes, the one in pink is a girl…

Woman: No, I mean mixed.

Me: Fraternal? Boy/girl…

Woman: Mixed. Like is your husband a different race? Do they look like your husband?

Me: Um… No, we’re all the same race. Do I just pull up to that building over there?

Woman: Then are you mixed? What are you? Are you an American?

Me: Yes, I’m from here. I grew up here. My parents are from New Jersey.

Woman: You’re kidding me! You’re an American?

Me: I think you could probably tell from my accent that I’m American…

Woman: But you’ve got to be mixed or something. I can’t believe you’re American. You don’t look American. And I’m not racist. But you can tell that you must be mixed-race.

Me: No…

Woman: You think I’m racist. But I’m not. I just don’t think you look American.

Me: Okay…well, I just need to wash the car…

Woman: Your kids are really cute. But they’ve got to be mixed-raced.

By this point, I finally have my credit card back and I’m pulling away slowly, mentally noting that this is a good reason for why I shouldn’t get my car washed again for the next three years.

From the backseat, The Wolvog translates mixed-race into toddler-speech and asks, “Mommy, what’s mc-ray?”

And still trying to figure out where my car is supposed to be in order to be de-crudded, I mutter, “a mc-ray is something you get with mcnuggets.”

Thus begins another missed parenting moment.

In case you haven’t been able to pick this up yet from reading my blog…I’m a Jew. The olive-skin? The dark eyes? The long curly hair? It’s all just my Eastern European Jewry. I thought I’d just place that on the table since you can’t see me right now and I’m sure you are wondering, “well…what ethnicity is she if people are asking these questions?”

But what did she think was the mix? White and something else? Middle Eastern and Latina? Half-meerkat, half-woman? Completely-fucked-up-in-the-head paired with high-functioning?

My whole life, I have had people out of curiosity play “guess her ethnicity” with me. It is a favourite game of people standing next to me in checkout lines (“your hair is so beautiful. Are you Middle Eastern?). Or pumping gas at the next car over (“Chica, I don’t believe you. You have to speak Spanish! You’re Mexican.”). Or taking my order at a restaurant (“Italian? Right?”). This is pretty much a weekly occurrence. This has been going on my whole life.

Josh finds the whole blatant show of racism disguised as curiosity an interesting phenomenon and when I relayed this latest conversation to him, he laughed hysterically at this woman’s social ineptitude. He told me that I had to write it down–it was one of the best ones yet.

But when she was talking, all I could think about was when it would start for my daughter, my beautiful olive-skinned daughter who has my dark-colouring, curly hair, dark eyes. And how she would feel when the questions started coming in earnest. And how they would make her view other people.

Updated:

I think the greater thing that floored me this time is this thought that if your child looks like you, they are destined to repeat many similar experiences–both good and bad–that you experienced as a child. For me, this questioning affected me differently depending on where I was in my life and how comfortable I was in my own skin. In a blond-haired Barbie world, I was pretty uncomfortable with my looks. In college I was considered exotic on my blue-eyed Midwestern campus so I embraced looking different from my other dorm-mates. By now, so far beyond a time when I’m concerned about what people think of me (except when I’m about to go to meet a roomful of other bloggers at the D.C. Blogging get-togethers and I’m scared shitless. Sorry if I always seem quiet in person), these questions are an annoyance. The social ineptitude of others has its advantages too. Other people’s assumptions have gotten me out of many an annoying conversation–it’s easy to feign a lack of English knowledge when people start with the assumption that you don’t know the language.

But until today, I had never considered how my daughter, who does look remarkably like me, will go through something similar too. I find the people who are the most rabid with the questioning tend to be younger. A case in point, the woman at the car wash was probably in her early twenties. Therefore, this isn’t a problem that is going away. It is a problem my daughter will face too.

I think we’re so conditioned or perhaps even biologically driven to create children in our image. But I, personally, had never stopped to think of the drawbacks of having a child in your image. And having them walk the same path that you walked. Will I be able to give her different skills because I lived it too? Should we work on comebacks? If she didn’t look like me, there could be a different set of problems, so it isn’t as if “woe is me, if she just didn’t look like me she would skip through life unscathed by idiots.” I’m simply commenting that I never thought about the inherent drawbacks–I only focused on the advantages of having a child reflect my image.

I’ve worked so hard in our house to take our focus off of looks and place it on action. We talk about how smart she is, how clever, how creative. Do I sometimes say, “you’re so beautiful” too? Of course. I was always concerned with how she would come to view her body simply as a girl living in a body-focused society. That was my whole reason for taking the pressure off of looks.

But I had never considered this other side–that her looks would become a thing of comment just because a person couldn’t “place” her. We’re not only body-focused, we’re obsessed with all labeling. And I know I do it too. My labeling is uniquely slanted to reflect my own interests–I am constantly assessing families and wondering which were built through treatments or adoption and which were built
through good, old-fashioned sex (what? What’s that? How do you have a baby from sex?). I’m noting if a person’s last name is Jewish.

The Wolvog and ChickieNob are starting to note differences, and I’ve found it interesting that their commentary leans towards different actions rather than different looks. I’ve wondered if this is the work of my focus-shift or if this is the natural tendency of children: first focus on what people do and then focus on how they look. And how much will this work fly out the window the second they start encountering the guessing games.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when other people tell you how much you would love their vacation. As if one vacation fits all and what is relaxing for one person must be relaxing for all. It’s not that I’m opposed to touring museums in Paris or trekking up Mount Everest or hiking in the Grand Canyon, but vacations are a very personal thing. There are beach people and city people and sailing people and biking people and few vacations are made to fit every type of person.

But that said, you would love my vacation.

We go to Chincoteague every year because it fits all of our criteria for a fantastic vacation. In comparison to other beach towns, it’s relatively inexpensive (you can easily stay for $80 or so on season and even less off-season, plus many people camp). It’s extremely well-maintained because it’s part of the National Seashore. And keeping with that fact, there is no consumerism near the beach. All the stores hawking t-shirts and beach towels are in town, a few miles away. Plus, it is a biking sort of town. Once you park at the hotel, you don’t need to get back in your car again unless you’re lame like us and always forget to bring reflective clothing and therefore use the car at night.

It’s a sleepy town where few restaurants remain open past 9 p.m. There is one movie theater that shows one movie each week (and the next nearest theater is 45 minutes away). There are two mini golf courses, but we haven’t been back to them since our first trip. There are two competing ice cream stores. We are Creamery people, though once upon a time, we were Mr. Whippys people. There is nothing to do at night except sit and read. And that’s why we love it.

The best part of Chincoteague is the nature reserve. Wild horses and deer stand in the middle of the road and you can walk right up to their tick-infested bodies and pet them. There are hundreds of birds if you are a bird-watcher, which we’re not. The nature reserve is so cool-looking that it feels as if Disney’s Imagineers set it up with a few imported trees and well-manicured tall grasses. It just doesn’t feel like you’re in Virginia when you’re riding along the Black Duck Trail.

So here are some of my vacation photos. You should come to Chincoteague too because you would love our vacation. Who wouldn’t love a cheap beach town where all there is to do is rest on the beach or ride your bike around town? And what does a town need more than hundreds of infertile couples flocking to it, pomegranate-strings flashing, for a giant group vacation? Whose in? Next August? Barren Bitches Beach Bonanza?

Wild horse who was actually part of a pack of wild horses but I cropped them out of the picture because it looked better with the single horse. Sorry, ponies.

Even the sky looks better at Chincoteague.

Seaweed and sticks near our beach blanket.

A friend I made while Josh was trying to read. What you can’t see in this picture was that the gull was chasing a somewhat transparent crab. Crab got away. Gull was not given one of our crackers as a consolation prize because Josh thought that would encourage bad behaviour. All who want to comment on Josh’s meanness towards birds may feel free.

Another shot of the beach. I love how we mostly had it to ourselves. Thank you, off-season.

Josh’s back as he bicycled in front of me.

A crane flying over the water as we biked onto Assateague Island.

Two deer who chilled with us while I told them all about myself. Great listeners.

The water between Chincoteague and Assateague.

Crab claw.

It feels like this week went through like a whirling dervish…without the spiritual side or the grace. I would start thinking about one thing and then race and do another and then remember that I’m supposed to be meditating and then wonder what to make for dinner and then…

Can I slow it down and recap?

The Second Happiness Challenge kicked off on Wednesday (yes, I am still trying to make myself happier and I’m dragging you along for the ride). It requires 10 minutes of meditation a day. It is slowly getting easier, but this has been a typical 10 minutes: I lie down and start thinking about the beach. I am placing myself in a beach scene. I deep breathe for a while and then I think about making dinner. And I wonder if I should make French eggs (what? You don’t know how to make French eggs? Email me and I will teach you–they remain so much hotter and fluffier than scrambled eggs). Then I think about how I often use the French eggs bowl to make popcorn on the stove (what? You don’t know how to make popcorn on the stove? You’re missing out…email me again). And I start thinking about how good popcorn would taste right now. But I’m on the beach. I’m deep breathing. But popcorn… And then the timer goes off.

Which is a long way of saying, do not stress if you are having trouble. Mr. Shahar promises that it will get easier and I am choosing to believe him. For me, switching when in the day I do it has helped a bit. And you can still sign up, you’re just doing it for fewer days.

So, today is the last day to suggest a book for the next big book tour vote. Which will take place probably next week. I have a crazy voting system where you get to choose as many books as you wish and vote others off the island a la Survivor. Which is probably more work than it’s worth, but that’s the way I roll. So look forward to a vote soon and as they say each election, you can’t bitch if you don’t vote. So choose the books you want to read.

Next, and maybe the most important so indulge me while I talk about it for a moment…The Shop Mom or Pop. Here’s the thought behind the idea: fertility treatments and adoption are very expensive. Most of us have a creative bone in our bodies and we could make something and sell it if only there was a good way to bring business to our site. As much as I want to start my own philanthropy for all of you, I don’t have the money to give you for treatments or adoption (because it is all earmarked for my own treatments). But I do have the power of social networking. So.

I have created this post which will be a catalog of homegrown businesses owned by stirrup queens or sperm palace jesters (if it grows too large, I’ll house it on a separate blog with a directory and different store “rooms”). If you are undergoing treatments or pursuing adoption or have done these things in the recent past and are still paying off bills, join along. Why that caveat? I had to limit the list in some way or I’d potentially have Jim, the 14-year-old from Kansas who makes dirty t-shirts, asking if he could just throw his name up there too (no offense towards hypothetical Jim). The guideline is loose–if you have great insurance and have paid only co-pays for your treatments, you can still add your business. I’ll enter people who don’t fit the guidelines at my own discretion. I am looking to help stirrup queens or sperm palace jesters as the bottom line.

You can also start a business that makes money for another person. In other words, your mother could start a knitting etsy with the intention of giving you the money for treatments/adoption. So this is a way that friends and family can help you too! Isn’t that cool? Next time they say, “how can I help? I really want to help” you can tell them to use their creativity to help pay for your treatments/adoption. By the same token, if you are parenting after IF and you’re finished with family building but you really want to help a fellow SQ or SPJ, you can open your own shop and give the money monthly to someone else (and you can designated that person at a later date).

So, you’re creative, but you don’t know where to begin. Well, there are simple websites like Cafepress that demand no money down and are easy to start. Not the most artistic approach, but it’s an idea. Etsy is a little more work, but you’re selling your products that you created at home. At the high end is setting up your own website like Rian. At the not-quite-high-end-but-certainly-a-bit-more-work-than-Etsy is setting up a post on your blog where you show pictures and give a way to order (either contact you via email or set up a post office box). This would be ideal of someone selling a single item such as a book or CD. So 4 ways to start a store and there are probably many more methods out there.

I know there are a lot of people who have a store like this, but I am not adding anyone without their expressed interest. So if you are interested in being added, let me know or your store will never be added to the list.

Bea also had a great idea–someone who owns a baby-gift service could set up accounts for SQs and SPJs. Next time you get the birth announcement and need a gift, you would just email this person with the details and address, pay for the gift, and be done with it. No stepping into Babies R Us or having to navigate Target’s website. Anyone want to volunteer?

Plus, every time you shop at one of these online stores, you are benefiting an SQ or SPJ.

How did this idea start? It really came from a discussion with Beagle who was lamenting Christmas. And we started throwing back and forth ideas on stuff to do leading up to Christmas and this idea took place: throwing yourself into a creative project that could help with treatments/adoption by taking advantage of the upcoming Christmas shopping season. Which is why I wanted to start this now–get it up and rolling before the shopping season begins.

What can you do if you don’t want to start a business but want to help:

• Ask friends and family to shop thoughtfully. Send out an email to others telling them about this idea and ask them to keep it in mind for holiday shopping. The url for the post is http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/2006/06/shop-mom-or-pop.html and I am constantly adding to it. The post will change over time with new additions, but the url will not change (even if I ever move over the store directory to a new blog space like the emoblopedia, I will have a link from this url to the store).
• Shop thoughtfully yourself the next time you need a gift.
• Add this code to your blog, cha
  nging the { to a <. It is the icon and link to the shop. {a href=” http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/2006/06/shop-mom-or-pop.html ” target=”_top”> {img alt=”Shop” src=” http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2SDEpISlohw/RwLcs-OqhcI/AAAAAAAABBM/xxOVh2pnP9U/s200/Shop+Mom+and+Pop+1.bmp “/>{/a>

What can you do if you do want to start a business:

Email me at thetowncriers@gmail.com so I can send you some questions to fill out and add you. You can sell or make anything–from edibles to knit to clothing to ceramic. And everything else in between.

My store? I will be creating wall hangings and silkscreening, but it’s going to take me a few more weeks to get started.

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really emotionally-tied to this idea right now. It is up there in my heart with Lost and Found and the Emoblopedia. I’m hereby declaring this year for me as The Year of Linkage.

Moving on.

My father has a question about Cinderella. Perhaps you can answer it. “If you remember, the fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a coach, mice into horses, etc. She also turned Cinderella’s rags into a fancy ball gown, complete with accessories. All was cool but, at midnight, everything would turn back the way it was. Remembering the Disney version, Cinderella is running down the steps to get out of the castle as the clock is striking the midnight hour. Now everything changed back into what it was at midnight. How was Prince Charming able to find a glass slipper on the steps? Wouldn’t the slipper have turned back into what it was? A second question that also has to be considered…if only Cinderella’s foot fit into the glass slipper, and no other woman in the kingdom could get the slipper to fit, does that mean that Cinderella had a foot deformity and the slipper was designed to fit that deformity?” If you care to take a crack at this, leave a comment for him below.

Two great ideas in the blogosphere this week:

Jenna’s friend has set up a raffle for her. You can support Jenna as she pursues adoption AND win cool things like an iPhone. I don’t know…sounds like win-win to me…

And, Starfish is proposing a knit along. What is a knit along, you ask? It’s a way to clear out UFOs (see…I just learned this knitting term: unfinished objects) and make a cool scarf with other bloggers cheering you along and answering your questions as they arise. I think it’s a very very cool idea. If you knit, please go to her site and check it out.

Thank you for reading through all of this. I think this just may be the longest roundup ever. And wait, we haven’t even gotten to all the cool things I read in the blogs this week…

Nycphoenix at Forever Reaching has a beautiful post this week called “Confession.” And it is just that, a good Catholic girl, placing out her thoughts in Confession. It is an admittance that as much as she tries to let go of the idea of being pregnant and go with whatever plan is in store for her, she is still fighting against it, still trying. It doesn’t come to a perfect end–it’s still a work in progress–and I hope she finds her peace.

Dianne at Flutter of Hope writes about the infertile elephant in the room. It is an impossibly hard time. The last treatment is finished, a year-long break has begun, and still, standing in the center of the room is that enormous infertile elephant, the constant reminder and the space that no one discusses. The one that even Dianne tries not to see. It is a post filled with pain and sadness. The words literally ache. I hope the elephant has not trailed her to her sister’s wedding this weekend. He needs to give her a moment of peace. We all know that he rarely listens and stays home, but we can hope.

DMarie at La Bella Vida is still sending out Common Thread bracelets and Samantha at Southern Infertility has a gorgeous post about tying hers on. She writes: “So far, no one has asked, no one has commented, but it makes me feel better to be wearing it. It sort of serves as a space where I know I am always acknowledging my sadness, and lets my brain get on with other things. My mother, after my older brother died, got a ring to remember him by. I think I really understand that better now.” Even though it starts out as a post about the bracelet, it travels into the heart of the matter, which is that “something’s not quite right.” I cannot possibly say this better so I give you Samantha’s words instead. And then you should go over and read the whole post because Samantha is an incredible writer overall: “I can imagine scenarios in my head, where I share my feelings, my sadness, anger, and frustration in intimate detail with D, with other people, and I really want to do it, to take a load off of myself, but these moments never quite happen. When opportunities arise, I either don’t or can’t let go enough. Last night, D asked what was wrong, and I said I didn’t know. I didn’t know how to explain. Nothing? Everything? We’re running out of chances and your sister’s due date is May 16? My embryos died? I can’t think clearly because every loss in my life is weighing on me like lead right now? I know you’re stressed out and I’m not going to help matters any? I want to go to bed and not have to get up in the morning? I felt petty and irrational, so I brushed my teeth and did my relaxation CD. I know after each attempt, I’ll be upset, but I’ll also get better, but it seems like it gets harder and harder to get better and more of stretch to be ready for the next cycle.” Really, go read the whole thing. And the post above it as well.

I read the most amazing post at Uterine Wars. We constantly underestimate what children know; what they can sense. And this post sums up an amazing moment between mother and child–one that she dreaded when she started down the road of adoption, and one that turned out so different from how she could ever imagine. And I was so moved by the ide
a of sending the message that you’re safe. I laughed, I gasped, AND I bawled as I read this.

Lastly, but not leastly, the always funny, pretty damn amazing Truculent Girl at Good Times Good Times, who made me laugh so hard that I had to read the post aloud to my husband as he sat across the room. Seriously, how can you not click over to a post that begins, “My grasp on reality is tenuous enough as it is – did I really have to get an email birth announcement two days before I get bitchpatched? ‘Are you read for mini me???’ Quite frankly – no.” Go over and read about the emailed birth announcement in all of its glory.

So, a final recap of the final recap before you click away. My father’s Cinderella question. Voting going on next week for upcoming book tours. Deep breathing and cleansing thoughts happening currently. And Shop Mom or Pop–spread the word, start your own business, get a leg up with customers by listing it with everyone else, support other SQs and SPJs…that sort of thing.

And a major thank you for all of those delurking this week. I was touched beyond words by your comments. I think somewhere inside of me is that eighth grade Melissa who reads the comments in amazement because she still can’t believe that someone would say something nice to her. I would write more, but I’m delurking myself and I’m still pretty choked up.