On the best-news-in-the-world front, friends of our friends—M and J—are finally becoming parents after five years of infertility. They received their referral this week and will travel soon to Ethiopia to bring home their boy-girl twins. I had chills run down my arms when my husband called to tell me the news. Their referral came with photographs of the twins. Since receiving their referral, they have set up the photographs on their table so they could eat dinner each night with the twins. Which I thought was a fantastic idea. Feel free to leave any well-wishes for them and I will send them along to read on the plane when they travel in a few weeks. I know it would mean a lot to them to hear from the stirrup queens and sperm palace jesters of the world and know others are cheering them along as they complete the last leg of a long journey towards parenthood. Literally bawling for them as I write this.

The Crème de la Crème list keeps growing and growing. I’m about to add my 71st entry today. And there are still so many great blogs out there. Peruse the list. If you see someone missing, send them a suggestion of a favourite post from 2006 and ask them to forward me the link (at thetowncriers@gmail.com). I don’t want to add anyone without their blessing, but I do want everyone to have a voice. With so many varied entries, it’s feeling a bit like a harmonized song—the sad and the funny; the confused and the confident; the start of the journey and the end of the line. Thank you for helping me compile this list.

And now…the blogs!

Kicking it off, we have infertility humour (is there really such a thing?) from Baby Quest. At the very least, it answers the decades-old question of why did the RE cross the road as well as how many stirrup queens it takes to screw in a lightbulb.

At the other end of the spectrum is an entry on Discovering Me titled “Anguish.” I think many times with pregnancy loss, we consider what the parents are missing. But MB watches her daughter, Gracie, observing a set of sisters and comments, “Mommy, I miss my sister.” MB writes: “It’s one thing for me to be sad. For me to miss Audrey. But Gracie misses her too. She’s only just now old enough to begin to understand what she’s missing.” It was a very eye-opening and heartbreaking moment to read that thought.

Max’s Mommy has a post this week called Stark Raving Lunatic where she writes out the internal monologue that plays in her head as she leaves the RE’s office. And since it is similar in tone and sentiment to the internal monologue that plays in my head as I leave all doctor’s offices connected to infertility, I thought I’d point people towards it because I feel like it will strike a familiar chord with many of you in the Blogosphere.

The stork has landed at Manana Banana. 7th cycle was a charm and brought her to Adam Daniel. I’m just so happy for her and glad that she can move from being a “professional IVF patient” to a professional Mommy. Congratulations!

This is an idea I have been kicking around for a while, trying to make it fit into a puzzle. It feels like every piece is slightly off, unable to click together to reveal the broken picture. I can’t make sense of this AND I can’t either connect or untangle these two ideas. Perhaps I just need another set of eyes on this idea to help me shape it into something manageable and useable.

At least, I think there is something useable in here. I feel like there is a bridge inside of this idea that would help me over a chasm.

I had this friend–let’s call her Courtney just because it’s a name I like and I’ve never gotten a chance to use it–and we were growing apart. But we had so much history that we also couldn’t really let go of the friendship. Courtney told me that she wanted to be there for me if anything truly terrible happened or if anything wonderful happened–she just couldn’t be there for the day-to-day. And that, frankly, isn’t a friendship. Or maybe it’s a friendship-once-removed or some other strange family-tree-like relationship. But one shouldn’t have to weigh what they wanted to discuss–is this truly awful enough to lean on Courtney for support? Is this news good enough to ask Courtney along for a celebration? I mean, how does one weigh something like infertility? A miscarriage, yes, I could see her placing that in the “awful enough” category. But how would she weigh the rest of the feelings? And is there any point in continuing this relationship if she can’t even see how much infertility inandof itself is my “awful thing”?

We drifted. September 11th brought us back together as September 11th had the ability to do. I held her hand through a terrible late miscarriage a few years later. That’s the sort of thing a strong friendship can weather–moving from a discussion on weighing our news to just jumping into action when you pick up the phone and hear a voice wavering as she says your name. And your heart just knows.

There is a part of me–and I want to preface this by repeating the words “a part of me”–that believes that if you are going to ask people to celebrate with you, you should include them also in the difficult moments of your life. There were certain people that I wanted to jump straight into celebrating with me when we finally achieved a positive so I told them about our losses as well. Not necessarily all the details. And not always every loss. But they were informed of the problems as well as the successes. They were part of my inner circle and I felt as if I owed them the full story. I don’t know why. This is one of those pieces of the puzzle that doesn’t seem to fit correctly.

Because I also think it is incredibly valid to not share your losses with others. I understand the desire to cocoon. Especially in the face of comments or advice. And looking at the facts, I didn’t share every loss or every failed cycle. I shared some. And I can’t even say why I didn’t share what I didn’t share. There is a miscarriage story that I have shared with some people when they have told me theirs, and I have typed it and erased it many times on this blog. And I don’t know why. I can’t put my finger on why that particular loss feels so much more personal and so much more private than another. It was just another early miscarriage–a chemical pregnancy. But for whatever reason, it didn’t make it to most people’s ears even though I included them in the celebration of the twins later on.

But here is what I have been tossing around in my mind–the other end of this idea. There were the people who I told about the losses because I felt I owed them if I was asking for them to celebrate with me later on. Meaning, I wanted them to know what they were celebrating. I wanted them to know the real story and the big picture. If I loved them enough to ask them to be in my children’s life from point one, I felt they needed to know all of the details. And on that end, these are the people who again will hear every loss, every step in the adoption process if we go that route, every difficult choice because I will also ask them to celebrate with me later. And a real friendship is about giving everything and taking everything. It’s not the picking and choosing. It’s not the weighing and hiding. It’s leaving it all out there and giving them all–the good and the bad.

Mixed in with the people who heard about the losses and cried with me and heard about the positives and celebrated with me were people who heard about the losses and offered no support. And heard about the positives and only wanted to celebrate. And I’m having a hard time with this. This is a puzzle piece that I keep trying to jam in there and it isn’t working.

I think I came to this realization a few weeks ago. I was working on the pregnancy loss chapter and out of all of the chapters, it is the one that is giving me the most trouble. And it’s not the subject matter. I mean, the interviews are emotionally difficult to read and I feel a huge responsibility to care for your words because…well…because they are your children. Without your children here, these words are your children. And you shared them with me and I will always be grateful. But that’s not what is making this chapter the hardest one to write.

I realized that I was yelling at the reader. I was snarling and spitting and accusing the reader. While other chapters have been more of the oh-sweetie-you-really-put-your-foot-in-it-let-me-help-you-repair-your-relationship variety, this pregnancy loss chapter has read more along the lines of you-mother-fucker-you-always-let-me-down-and-I-will-never-get-over-that. A little heavy to put on a reader that I don’t actually know…

(Just in case my agent is reading this, I feel like I must write in this space that I am currently reworking this chapter and it will not be nearly as angry when I am finished)

And my anger stems from the people who want to be in the lives of my current children when they were never in the lives of my other children. The ones that aren’t here. And I’m talking about a wide range from actual losses to the children that weren’t just because it was the cycle that wasn’t. The ones who could never be sensitive about infertility and the ones who never were there for me when I was depressed. And who still aren’t there for me now.

And it all goes back to what do we owe one another? I’ve asked this question before, but I’m asking it again because…well…I need to get over this anger. Now that I’ve identified the emotion, I feel like I can deal with it. If I just find the key out of this room. Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps it is fine to just jump in for the celebration without being there for the misery. Maybe I should just accept those friends. Not even pretend to accept it, but actually accept it.

Except…it all goes back to Courtney. I wasn’t willing to take a relationship that was halfway to somewhere. Or, more accurately, I wasn’t willing to have a friend who was in my inner circle who wasn’t fully inside the circle. Who was standing on the fringes, waiting to run to the party table even though I was collapsed in a heap in the center of the circle. Who allowed others to gather around and help me–even just be there for me as a sounding board when I needed to cry–but did nothing themselves. What do we do with these friendships? What do we do with these family members? How do we fit this puzzle together? I’m missing something–a way out of this idea–and I don’t really know how to reconcile what I was willing to do in other passages of my life versus what I am willing to do now that there are children involved and other people affected by the idea of holding someone close or letting them go.

Welcome to the first tour of the Barren Bitches Book Brigade–a book club from the comfort of your own living room. Grab a cup of coffee and start clicking away at the links below. Just to explain, the book was chosen a few weeks ago. Each participant on the tour read this book and posted their review today. The actual discussion begins with these posts. Even if you didn’t read the book (yet), read the reactions and leave questions and comments on their blog. Check back later in the week when we have an interview with the author, Elizabeth Swire Falker on this blog.

Book: The Ultimate Insider’s Guide to Adoption
Author: Elizabeth Swire Falker
Post Date: January 10th
End Date: January 15th

The Barren Bitches Book Brigade List
(click on any of the links below to take you to a stop on this book tour. Jump from post to post to read a plethora of opinions and thoughts on Falker’s new book)

Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters (Mel)–my post is below this post
Serenity Now! (Serenity)
Are We There Yet? (TeamWinks)
Waiting for a Miracle (GLouise)
Round is Funny (M)
My Reality (My Reality)
Still Passing Open Windows (Carlynn)
Sticky Feet (Jamie)

Read and enjoy. Hopefully you’ll have a greater sense of whether this adoption book is one that you’d like to read or perhaps learn more about the world of adoption.

Like the idea of being in a book club without leaving your living room? We’ll pick the next book on Thursday so weigh in with your ideas when I post about the Barren Bitches Book Tour #2…

Based on her thank you page, Elizabeth Swire Falker seemed to write a portion of the book at her local Starbucks. Therefore, it seemed a fitting place to curl up with her book and a white chocolate mocha and have a friend introduce me to the world of adoption. Because that’s what it felt like reading the book. Like we scored those squashy armchairs in the back of the store (you know the ones I’m talking about–the ones by the towering shelves of extremely expensive espresso makers) and we were having a cup of coffee while we talked.

“Liz,” I said to the book as I sat down. “Is it really pushy of me to ask you about your experience with adoption? I don’t even know where to begin separating the myths of adoption from the reality of adoption.”

“Sweetie,” the book answered, “I totally don’t mind talking about adopting David–you’re not being pushy at all. If anything I know can help you on your journey, you’re welcome to it.”

Mixing personal experience with her background as a lawyer specializing in fertility and adoption related situations (donor egg/insemination, surrogacy, adoption), the book runs through choosing which type of adoption fits you best to caring for your child in a Beijing hotel room.

The book leans heavily on domestic adoption–not only is the section almost double the size of the international adoption section–but the majority of the appendixes in the back of the book focus on state laws concerning adoption. I chalked this up to the fact that there are (1) fewer coachable variables to deal with in international adoption vs. domestic adoption (one doesn’t need the same type of coaching on speaking with agency contacts as they do on speaking with a birth mother), (2) only general information is presented because going into the fine details of what differentiates Guatemala’s program from Ethiopia’s program would take too much space, and (3) laws and details change at a faster rate for international adoption vs. domestical adoption (while state laws may change, the overall process remains mostly the same). That said, I wouldn’t write off this book even if you have your heart set on international adoption because it still contains an enormous amount of information concerning transnational adoption.

I went into the book feeling fairly set on the idea that if we choose adoption, it would be international adoption. For a long time, we had been interested in China, believing that particular program and the logistics of adopting from China fit our life. I could envision that child as part of our family. China’s adoption policy changed during the time that I read this book and I have to admit, Falker’s information started me down a path to examining domestic adoption–specifically an older child adoption.

Based on what I had read and heard up until this point, I believed domestic adoption was more expensive (it’s not). I had misinformation on the structure of open adoption. I didn’t truly understand the logistics of the Federal Adoption Tax Credit or how it could make adoption more “do-able” financially. Falker’s book disspelled many of the myths that were bouncing around inside my head.

The MFA in me liked the fact that Falker clearly has chosen an audience and writes to that audience. This book is not for someone who is already deep on the path to adoption. Not that they couldn’t read it, but too much of the information is there for making choices. For discovering which path is best for building your family. This book is not for birthmothers. While Falker is certainly sensitive to birthmothers (and I love her advice on p. 125 on asking the birthmother about herself–establishing that “you genuinely care about her, not just her baby.” I think too many times we treat pregnant women like walking uteruses), the book can’t be everything for every person. Falker has chosen adoptive mothers as her audience and the book is aimed solely at them.

To be honest, I think that striking any sort of balance is hard to navigate because adoption (just like all emotional experiences) tends to bring out passionate responses. It’s an emotional, hot-button topic and I think it’s impossible to create a single book that will speak to all parties. She is in her element when she is discussing aspects of adoption that are part of her adoption experience–for instance, breastfeeding (again, a hot-button topic. Those who are pro-breastfeeding are going to be happy it’s included. Those who are against the idea of breastfeeding are going to be upset that it’s included. Those who are extremely passionate about the idea are probably going to think she didn’t include enough information. Those against it are going to be upset that there is any mention within the pages).

She touches upon topics such as post-adoption depression, but she doesn’t delve deeply into these areas because, again, this book is aimed solely at people still making the decision. There are wonderful books out there about what comes next–post-adoption blues, speaking to your children about adoption, deciding to adopt again–but Falker aims to focus intensely on the information one needs in order to make a sound decision regarding adoption.

The tight focus is beneficial because it creates a quick read–I finished the book in two sittings–and provides details on the same type of information (the kind you would need in order to make a decision or get on the path). I’m not sure if other readers are going to be bothered by that intense focus, but I appreciated it.

Returning to that scene in Starbucks, I imagine Liz (the book) setting down the drink she mentions in her thank you section that has a ridiculously long name as I repack my bookbag.

“Thank you so much,” I tell her, “for giving me all of this information. It’s such a good, broad stepping stone to jump from as I gather more details. I feel like I understand a little more about the logistics of adoption and you’ve given me a lot to think about in regards to my own journey. A last thank you though–I love how you included personal information about yourself. Admitting to your foibles just made me love your writing even more. No one is perfect and I think we sometimes become scared of what we believe others will consider our shortcomings in regards to the ‘judgement’ that comes with adoption. The homestudy. The choice of the birthmother. But you made me feel like perfection isn’t the goal. I liked knowing that you were scared too. That you had your own fears when it came to the homestudy. It made me feel like I could get through it too.”

“You’re welcome,” Liz the book said, giving me a hug as we both stand up. “Really, isn’t that what the sisterhood is about? You have this information and you can choose to pass it along to others. I hope someone else is helped by whatever information I can pass along.”

At least, that’s what Liz the book said to me…

A book I was reading on pregnancy loss tried to differentiate between a focus and an obsession. In my opinion, trying to have a child the “natural” way is like trying to juggle a busy schedule. Trying to become a parent through fertility treatments or adoption or third party reproduction feels like you’re spinning plates. Not only do you have to keep track of your cycle or what you must do at each step, but (at least in our experience) our RE was depending on us to help him analyze our cycle and look for clues that were pointing towards a reason for a cycle’s failure. It meant a keen focus on my body–how I felt, what was happening, what I did during the course of the treatment. Therefore, it was impossible to not think about infertility. Ignoring it was like trying to ignore a big white uterus in the room.

At what point does the focus to have a child become an obsession to have a child? Are they one and the same and using two different words just puts a positive or negative twist to the same idea? Or is a focus something entirely different than an obsession?