This is the post where the Jew tries to explain how she views Christmas…

Skip reading if Christmas is your favourite holiday, you’re a caroler, or don’t care to hear an outsider talk about your holiday…

Oh, wait. There’s the other side of Christmas too. The one that makes me feel like an ever-loving hypocrite as I drive down Connecticut Avenue belting out “O Holy Night.” I need to listen to my Christmas music as I drive out of the city because once I’m back in the presence of the kids, it’s Dan Zanes and Raffi. It’s Shiralala every Friday as we make the challah. It’s all about avoiding drawing attention to “that holiday that we don’t celebrate.”

It’s a Christian world, just like it’s a fertile world. So I expect the majority to rule and for all stores and street corners to be decked out for the holiday just as I expect that most people will think it’s perfectly fine to ask if my husband is bonking me and if we’ll be having another child soon. It’s not “right” per se; but it’s expected.

But this is the other way I see Christmas: The sparkling lights on trees and the red ribbons around every street lamp? It’s sort of like showing a Jewish child and entire parking lot full of ice cream trucks and then smiling benignly while you remind them that they can’t have a popsicle.

My son’s nickname is the MOPT (pronounced Mop-tee) which stands for the Minister of Toilet Paper. Whenever someone annouces that they have to go to the bathroom, he follows them to the toilet and stands waiting at attention to rip off the toilet paper. But since Thanksgiving, when the first Christmas lights went up, he has been renamed the Crazy Sparkle Light Fiend. It’s like driving around town with a junkie who sees a dealer on every corner. Our drive home sometimes takes an additional fifteen minutes as we meander down cul-de-sacs to see strings of lights draped over bushes. And then the second you point out a set of lights to him, he acknowledges them by saying, “sparkle lights” and then immediately follows it with “more sparkle lights.” Like a freakin’ junkie.

And feeding into this problem is that my attempts at separation are feeble at best. Josh can drive home without noticing the lights and he never turns to the all-Christmas-all-the-time radio station. But I love seeing the lights too. And having only been in a house with a Christmas tree a handful of times in my life, I’m attracted to the unknown of the holiday. Josh has dated non-Jewish. He’s done the Christmas thing. But I’ve never gotten to get celebrating Christmas out of my system. So I want to see the lights too. And I want to eat candy canes. And take part in all of the secular commercialism that surrounds the holiday. Without actually celebrating the holiday. Since I’m usually burned out by December 18th. And I’m Jewish. And we don’t celebrate Christmas.

If you’re Christian, you probably can’t relate and ask, “what’s the problem with throwing up a few lights this year?” Because Christmas isn’t ours. And Chanukkah isn’t Christmas. It’s this tiny holiday that has one commandment tied to it–light the candles for 8 nights. That’s it. No gifts. No festive meal. Americans commercialized Chanukkah in order to give children a focus during the season. So they didn’t feel left out. I don’t need to celebrate Chanukkah as if it’s Christmas. Think about it this way–do you feel left out during Rosh Hashanah and feel like you need to celebrate a holiday too? It sends a strange message to kids–our religion isn’t interesting enough or celebratory enough so we need to grab other people’s traditions. It detracts from our fun holidays like Purim and Simchat Torah.

The Christian world always looks at this dilemma and says, “what’s the harm?” But it’s sort of the same attitude that drives your Aunt Margaret to ask you if you’re going to have a baby. What’s the harm in asking a simple question in the fertile world? If only 12% of the country is infertile, then odds are that when you ask the question, you’re hitting one of the 88% who do like to think about their fertility. Newly-minted brides are downright giddy thinking about how they’ll start trying soon. They don’t mind the question as much because it makes them feel as if they’ve arrived. They are finally considered an adult and mother material if people are asking them about procreation.

But hit one of those 12% and you’ll have annoyed at best and sobbing at worst. Talking about my fertility is probably one of the last things I want to talk about in casual conversation anymore. Talking about my fertility means thinking about blood clotting and Lovenox. Or finding the money for treatments. Or injections. Or wondering if it’s physically possible for someone to hold their breath for nine months.

Which is what it’s like to be Jewish during the Christmas season. It’s annoying at best to have people remind you to have a merry Christmas. And it’s isolating at worst to think about how you’re out of the loop. I have this image in my head of someone pressing their face against a snowy window while they watch the family inside the warm house decorating the tree when I think about being Jewish in a Christian world. It’s easy to be Christian around Rosh Hashanah. It’s not everywhere you turn. You probably don’t even think about it because radio stations aren’t playing High Holiday music (a little Neil Diamond Kol Nidre, anyone?) and every store isn’t decked out for the New Year. But it’s impossible for Jews not to think about it because it’s sort of like someone waving a party invitation in your face. A party where you’re not invited. It’s not that you want to go, but you certainly don’t want to be reminded that you’re not part of the celebration.

Sometimes it feels a bit like when I’m trying to run errands and everywhere I turn, I’m faced with a pregnant belly and reminders of my own infertility. Pregnant women walking around blissfully unaware in their carefree pregnancies. Never thinking that the woman standing behind them in line may not want to watch them rub their belly and coo at their unborn child to “stop kicking, Mommy, darling.”

But just like pregnant women can’t hide their bump when they face my infertility, I don’t expect Christians to hide their holiday from me. I certainly am not saying don’t celebrate Christmas. But there are ways to celebrate that are private and cozy. And there are ways to celebrate that remind those who are out of the loop how far they are outside of the loop. It’s sort of the difference between putting up lights at your house and coming to my house and caroling. Because it’s just really really really hard to explain to a child that we get Shabbat every week–with challah and grape juice and candles–when two seconds after we point out what they have in their corner, they go back to asking about those lights. And why we don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s something that most Christian parents probably don’t deal with until Bat Mitzvah time–and then what non-Jewish kids want is the party, not the actual ceremony. And it’s easier to explain religion to a middle schooler than it is to a two-year-old.

The analogy between Christmas and infertility doesn’t truly match up because I don’t necessarily want to be “in” in the grand sense of that word (I just want my music, lights, and a candy cane or two). And if I wanted to be in, I technically could be in by throwing up a tree in my living room and attending midnight Mass. But we’re not going to do it because we’re Jewish. And we’re happy to be Jewish. And I am happy with the holidays that we have and enjoy them tremendously. And I know my interest in Christmas is directly tied to my idea of the IF Christmas. Which–as we all know–isn’t like any Real Christmas that anyone has ever celebrated. It’s the stuff of movies. It’s just my own fantasizing about gr
eener grass in someone else’s yard.

When you whittle away all the layers, what remains is that when assumptions are made, people are bound to have their feelings nicked. The majority assumes that all people fall into the majority. Just like it’s unfathomable for non-infertiles to understand why you may not be happy and want to celebrate at the baby shower of a pregnant woman, it’s sort of unfathomable for Christian people to understand why I may not want to celebrate their holiday. Or be ambushed with Christmas ads and tinsel. Or be reminded to have a merry Christmas every time I make a purchase between Thankgiving and New Year’s.

Damn…I think burnout has come early this year.

I’m beginning to sound a lot like a Grinch. A big, infertile, Jewish Grinch.

Um…Merry Christmas?

Candy cane anyone?

(Cringing as I wait for people to throw boughs of holly at me)

This holiday season, I’d like to welcome you to celebrate my IF Christmas. I know what you’re thinking (beyond “what is an IF Christmas?”)–what is a nice Jewish girl like me doing talking about tinsel and stockings and a little baby angel at the top of the tree? Oh…no no no…you’re thinking about Real Christmas. No, that’s not my holiday. I celebrate IF Christmas.

A few years ago, out of nowhere since I had never had any desire to celebrate Christmas, I found myself listening to holiday music. And singing along once I learned the words. And searching for new routes home that took me past the most houses that were decorated with coloured lights. And I started talking about bringing a tree into the house. And I started talking about collecting ornaments. And my husband–my nice Jewish boy husband–almost had a heart attack.

My infertility therapist asked why I had become obsessed with Christmas. And once I started telling her all about how I pictured Christmas, she informed me that my imagination was much more beautiful than anything most people experienced Christmas-wise in the real world. Somehow, never having celebrated Christmas for real, I had imagined that the pain of infertility went away during the holiday. That you just became consumed with baking cookies and laughing with your sisters and decorating the tree. And no one cried about the fact they were barren.

And I need to explain at this point that the topic of barrenness seems to play a role in many Jewish holidays. On Rosh HaShanah, you talk about infertile Sarah. And at Pesach, we’re told about the barren women of Jerusalem during the seder. And at Purim, I once had a miscarriage, so that holiday is ruined for me. But Christmas? Christmas isn’t about infertility–it’s about HYPERfertility. Mary was so fertile that she could get pregnant without even having sex. And yes yes yes I know the whole story because I’ve read the New Testament many times by now, but when I was creating my IF Christmas, I was only seeing the fact that there was a newborn and a fertile woman.

Little did I know that at Real Christmas, infertile women feel like crap. And they watch their parents coo over their sibling’s children. And they eat too many cookies because they’re trying to keep their mouth full so they won’t have to answer, “so when are you guys going to start trying?” And they mourn that yet another year has gone by without any progress on the baby front.

So drop your Christmas and come celebrate my IF Christmas. My IF Christmas is best described in a series on montages, with the common thread being that you are finally pregnant.

Scene One: You’re walking with your husband in the snow on the way to take home a tree (oh–and it’s not from a crowded tree lot. In my IF Christmas, apparently, people collect their trees one at a time from this gorgeous guy who is cutting down trees for people at the edge of the wood) and you fall over on your backs, laughing hysterically. Your husband pauses from making snow-angels to touch your sweater-covered belly (it’s still flat since you’re only a few weeks along) and say, “I love you.”

Scene Two: They’re passing around cups of eggnog and when your mother brings the tray by you, you look at your husband and you both smile. Then you look at your mother and touch your stomach while saying, “I don’t think I should drink any alcohol this year.” Your mother drops the eggnog on the floor while she’s crying tears of joy and shaking. And everyone jokes for the rest of the evening about the fallen eggnog. But no one minds that she has wasted all the alcohol because YOU ARE KNOCKED UP and your family is psyched to hell.

Scene Three: You’re hanging an ornament on the tree and you’re wearing a gorgeous cashmere cream-coloured maternity sweater that shows off your seven month baby bump. Your husband comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you so that his hands rest on your belly and you both laugh when the baby kicks while he’s nuzzling your neck. He tells you, “next year, we’ll be decorating the tree with our baby.”

Scene Four: You’re in the kitchen, baking cookies and laughing with your sisters. And everyone is trading pregnancy and labour stories. Your sisters see how worried you look and they laugh and promise you that they’ll be out there in the waiting room the second you go into labour.

Scene Five: The snow is falling and you’re walking on the sidewalk with your husband, smiling secretly at each other because you just found out that you’re pregnant and no one else knows yet. Christmas music plays in the background and all around you, the trees are covered with twinkling lights.

See–there are no tears (except from the mom–and those are happy tears) in my IF Christmas. When I finished telling my therapist how I envisioned Christmas to be and why I was so jealous of Christian women who got to celebrate this holiday, I realized that I wasn’t jealous about Real Christmas per se. I was jealous of the women who really got to celebrate Christmas that way. The ones who weren’t infertile and were pregnant. So I decided to just pretend that winter. I would hold my belly and smile while I baked cookies. And I listened to Christmas music, pretending that I was walking down the street with my husband after seeing a positive pregnancy test. And I was happy just pretending. Just for a month. And then going back into the real world when the Christmas lights came down in January.

And that is my totally neurotic, made-up, fantasy Christmas that I celebrate every year. It’s my IF Christmas where all of us are pregnant and so happy. And it doesn’t matter if the other 11 months of the year, I’m a nice Jewish girl who bakes a challah every Friday. Once the Christmas songs start playing on the radio until the end of Boxing Day, it’s open season for my IF Christmas. And I start dreaming of my white Christmas and walking in that winter wonderland–hand on belly and my heart singing.

Come join me. It’s sort of like drinking. It’s sad if you celebrate IF Christmas alone, but it’s socially acceptable if everyone else engages in unhealthy magical thinking alongside you. And you have a built-in excuse not to drink any nasty eggnog since you’re knocked up for the month. And I even grant you permission to wear that maternity shirt you purchased during your second month of trying to conceive when you thought motherhood was right around the corner.

I’ll get to writing about the other side of Christmas later…

Y’all have gone over to Infertile Fantasies and seen this post…right?

Because it falls into the category of “freakin’ amazing idea.”

Like the randomness that pervades all aspects of life, there were people who only had two wishes come true all week. And there were others that received eight out of their ten wishes. I’m not sure how the little wish stone chooses which ones to grant. All I know is that all of the wishes are worthy. I wish the stone would pay attention and perform 100% of the time.

I’ve decided to leave the little wish stone up and update this post every time someone takes the wishing stone challenge. Mostly due to the four positive pregnancy tests that happened this week. My heart is breaking for the wishes that didn’t come true. But sometimes we need a little dose of wishful thinking just to get us through an experience and over to the other side.

Right now, the little wish stone is currently batting: 64% (this number is updated any time a person takes the wishing stone challenge and emails me their results at thetowncriers@gmail.com).

Past success counts: 78%, 76%, 73%, 64% (oh no! Is little wish stone losing potency?)

Stories of success from the wish stone:

“The third [wish] was more of a shocker, and you can feel free to post it if you keep me anonymous (I’m not ready topublicize it yet) but I wished for a BFP and got one! I’m 4 weeks an 1 day and scared out of my ever-lovingmind, but also deleriously happy.”

“I tried the wish stone today. I wished that my beta would be positive and a good number. After almost 8 years of ttc I got a positive today with my number at 127 (over 5 times higher then any of my other betas.) I am a believer! Thanks for sharing your stone.”

“The first day’s wish came true… the 2nd day’s wish came true… Today is the 3rd day. I’ll let you know!”

“I made a wish that my cycle not be cancelled/that my E2 would go down…the clinic just called and said I can take the trigger shot tonight! Thanks for letting us make a wish. 🙂 “

“I have made three wishes on the stone so far. Wish #1- boy comes home from his hockey game while I’m reading and wishing here. I wished he had won his game. The score … 9-1 for his team. Wish #2- That my Monday beta results would be over 100. Results for Mondays beta … 353. Wish #3- That this pregnancy would be sucessful. Results … we’ll have to wait and see.”

“We were going over to have dinner for my SIL’s birthday and I just wanted to connect with my nephew. So I wished. And it worked. He came running to me, he copied every move my husband made, he begged me to pick him up, he asked me to help him use his fork, and he even offered me one of his sliced grapes. I needed that.”

“I think the coolest thing about the wishing stone was feeling connected with other people in the blogosphere in a way that was kind of physical, by “touching” the stone. It was good to take stock of how many things went right during those ten days and to celebrate that.”

Keep sending me your stories of success with the little wish stone. And let me know your average if you make 10 wishes over 10 days.

Listen, new is bad. That’s just the way it is. Internet Explorer tricked me into loading an update and now my Web browser is seventeen kinds of messed up. I can’t find and use my favourites folder easily. I can’t even find the “search” feature anymore. My Internet Explorer essentially looks like Mozilla Firefox. And I didn’t use Mozilla Firefox for a reason. That reason being that it’s fucking annoying. And now I’m stuck with this new Web browser.

And it makes me feel completely off-kilter.

Like my whole world is leaning a little bit right now.

Sigh.

There were a slew of pregnancy annoucements these past two weeks: Jessica, Michelle, Inglewood. Congratulations! I’m sorry–I know I read more than just three (including Mary in the wish stone’s comment section who got a positive beta after eight years of IF after wishing on the stone–how freaky is that?) this week. So if you received a positive, this is a huge note of congratulations to you too.

We all know that a good vent feels…well…so good. So I wanted to bring you the best vent I found this week in order to inspire you with your own. Get all those crappy feelings out before the weekend. Square Peg, Round Whole had a vent post called “Crabby.” She begins the list by saying, “Just to give you a sense of what else is running through my head, and perhaps for the sake of catharsis, allow me to make a list of several things that have been bothering me, on more or less a daily basis” and ends the list with the wonderfully cathartic: “OK, that feels a little better. I won’t do the whole “now here is what I’m grateful for” list because I know that things could be SO, SO much worse, and I know that for the most part I should consider myself insanely lucky. Plus I just feel like moping. So there.” And it was just such a good vent. And by now, she’s feeling better. See, isn’t good to get it all off your chest?

There were two great posts this week that went hand-in-hand. One was on newly-minted mom, Barely Sane’s blog, Infertility Licks (which has moved over to the “parenting after adoption” category on the side bar) and the other was on Cibele’s Hoping For Better Days (now in English so I can stop plugging her entries into Babelfish in order to read along). Cibele writes: “Then I remember we will be the only ones childless out of our group. I was reminded one more time what I failure I feel like sometimes. Than I cried, I cried, I cried… DH cannot understand it. HE said, but I don’t want her baby, I want our baby… He then told me that I use not to be a jealous person. I AM NOT, I AM NOT A JEALOUS PERSON…and that makes me feel even worse to cry over her happy news.” Barely Sane has an equally powerful post called “Mending Fences” that has the same message: “DH wants me to get over it. I do not. Just because we have Ashlyn now does not change some of the things they said and did to us. It does not take away the hurt they caused us… some of which was intentional.”

It took a long time for my husband to understand female relationships and how fertility is processed in that world. Perhaps it’s because pregnancies are so inherently female–it all takes place inside our bodies. Perhaps it’s something biological–a chemical reaction that takes place inside the brain when we’re around fertile women that reminds us of our state. Perhaps it’s just that women are more sensitive and more comparative in nature? I don’t know. But this is a clip from my journal from back in January of 2003:

“I have been sad all morning, crumpled up inside of myself. I can’t get motivated to write or do schoolwork. I don’t want to cry, but I keep bursting into tears…Josh makes me feel guilty for being sad. He was pissed at me today when J called to tell me that she had delivered her baby (she got pregnant on the first try, had an easy pregnancy, had an easy labour, and now has a healthy baby) and I didn’t want to talk. He hissed at me to take the phone. I know what’s best for me. It doesn’t help me to talk to J and hear that ‘childbirth is the most incredible thing in the world.’ I WANT A CHILD.”

As you can see, the Josh of today, who tells me to take care of myself and supports me whenever I remove myself from a situation that is just making me sad, came a long way. And I don’t fault him for his optimism during the early parts of our journey. I mean, it is good form to get on the phone and congratulate a friend. I understand why he nudged me to do things. But once he pulled back and gave me the space to feel sad or frustrated, I stopped feeling quite as sad and frustrated.

I’d be interested to hear more stories like this: do you have the support you need from your partner in order to make decisions that protects your heart without feeling guilty for making those decisions? What was the turning point that brought you onto the same page?