When I'm deep in the muck of the daily routine, changing my 21st diaper of the day, trying to simultaneously prepare lunches for the Triple Threat, desperately trying to pick up the eleven-hundred toys Isabella strews across every room not so much to keep my house clean, but to prevent myself from tripping over one while holding one of the twins, it's easy for me to forget that it was just four years ago that I was mired in the hell of infertility, never once believing that I'd become the mother to one, much less three.

Today marks the end of National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW). Given that 7.3 million Americans suffer from infertility, it's likely that someone you know has it, even though you may not know it.

Last night, the hubs, the kiddos, and I went to my fertility clinic's 26th Anniversary Celebration of IVF, held at our city's science museum. Held each year during NIAW, this celebration (the same one we attended last year) is meant to reunite IVF patients with their doctors, nurses, embryologists, and other medical professionals who helped make them parents. It's also a great occasion to track down your own doctor, who skillfully eluded you at last year's party, held a mere nine days after you found out you were expecting twins instead of the singleton he told you you were having after a very long and exhaustive seven-week ultrasound, and demand some concrete answers, because seriously, WTF, dude? Didn't you go to school for like 100 years to do those things accurately?

I did talk to him last night, after stalking him for the entire 1.5 hours we were there. He pretended to be interested in chatting away with the many other families thrusting their babies into his arms for photo ops. But I knew the truth. He was avoiding me and thinking the entire time about ways to hide behind his colleagues and some fake potted trees once his fan club left him alone.

In all seriously, I really like the guy. He's funny, personable, and was a great RE. When he was finally free, we talked about my gigantic stroller, and then he said, "So, I guess you're done!" (meaning, I won't be requiring his services anymore).

Yeah, you could say that.

Isabella had a great time at the museum, Luci and Nicholas actually behaved even though it was held during their witching hour, and I enjoyed just being in the company of people who know exactly what I've been through. There were twins galore, lots of tiny babies clutched tightly to the chests of mothers who thought they'd never feel that soft bundle of warmth in their arms, and plenty of smiles and laughter from both those who beat the odds and their doctors who got them there.

So...Wednesday's post generated a lot of debate, which was my entire purpose in posting it. I like to stir the pot, so-to-speak, and topics like this are what keeps my brain cells from atrophying after watching nothing but Dora and reading nothing but Harold and the Purple Crayon all day long. Thank you so much for sharing your honest, intelligent, and well-thought-out opinions. I'm planning a follow-up post in the coming days, and I hope you'll comment as much on that post as you did on this one.


Finally, if you're looking for a good read on this fine Saturday, check out my latest article, "How to Find and Keep Mom Friends After Having a Baby" on Root & Sprout, which has just moved to a new publishing schedule, in which one or two articles will post each day in a blog format. Consider subscribing to the feed so you don't miss a single article.

1 Responses to “Roots”

  1. # Blogger Damselfly

    "Lots of tiny babies clutched tightly to the chests of mothers who thought they'd never feel that soft bundle of warmth in their arms, and plenty of smiles and laughter from both those who beat the odds." Sounds perfectly beautiful! I'm glad you could all go and celebrate.  

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  • 34-year-old writer and
    mother to a daughter
    born in August 2006 following
    IVF and girl/boy twins born in October 2008 following FET. Come along as I document the search for my lost intellect. It's a bumpy ride. Consider yourself warned.

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