On top of my study bookshelf are four rolls of wrapping paper. One of them is bright blue with large flowers. One of them is cotton candy sweet pink with tiny flowers. And one of them is a creamy white, with tiny baby mice dressed in snugs and playing with sparkly yellow stars just out of their reach, whirling around the words "It's a boy!" The fourth roll is of a suitably Charmin soft baby bear in a cloth diaper and holding two tiny rattles in each fist, also with sparkly yellow stars just out of their reach, sitting on the gentle salutation "Congratulations on your new girl!"

Fucking wrapping paper.

I have to get that wrapping paper down shortly, just like I have to go to Marks & Spencer's and buy yet another baby present and baby card that I will wrap up in that baby paper with baby tape. I will sign the baby card from the team and throw the receipt away, and I will hand away the baby present with a baby smile and honest hopes for a good baby future. Yet another team member's wife is about to give birth to their first child, and soon I will run out of baby paper for other people's babies, so I will get to buy some more in my baby-free hands and take it to my baby-free home.

This is what my story is like.

The past few days have struck home even more that I have absolutely no concept of what it feels like to be a parent. Melissa, sick with the flu, being cuddled and cared for in a way that only a parent knows how to do. A midnight flu brings worried foreheads and any degree of parental inconvenience, because that's what parents do. Parents spend the night by the bed. Parents soothe and comfort. Parents say that cleaning up vomit is no problem, just feel better baby, just get well.

When you're not a parent, you want to say those things too, but it doesn't have any weight behind it. I haven't cleaned bloodied knees. I haven't wiggled loose front teeth. I haven't put together a bicycle on Christmas Eve. I haven't comforted when the first best friend fight happened. I haven't sat on a couch and listened to whispered child's dreams on a dusky Summer's evening. I too want to comfort and cuddle and soothe, but I've had no on-the-job training, and apprentice love is just not the same as the full on deal.

I don't know anything about what it's like to have a little heart, let alone how to take care of one. I got stuck on "Adult" when put into my microwave of childhood, only my shell is adult and the inside is an undercooked child, a child who has a hard time understanding how the inside is supposed to feel.

In yoga on Sundays the woman next to me always rushes in, nearly late. She shakes her short blond bob and runs a hand through it. She asks me my plans and I tell her that after yoga I will be back home reading the paper with a cup of coffee and wearing my pajamas. I may garden. I may read. Who knows?

She laughs, and taking her socks off rolls her eyes. "You don't have children!"

I smile, with no teeth showing. "Why no, I don't!"

She looks at me, fluffing the bob. "Don't then! I swear I haven't slept in for 8 years! Just don't have children, you're so lucky!"

I love this one. Really. Terribly funny. It's at this point I often want to scream at them: Do you know how fucking inconsiderate and insensitive a comment like that is to someone you DON'T EVEN KNOW? Do you know what a fucking tombstone it is to be infertile? Do you? Do you know what it's like to wake up sometimes and think that it may never happen to me, that I am going to die old and alone and never be a part of something that is so magical and so precious? You and I both know that you don't think childless women are lucky, tell the truth, dammit! Do you have any idea, or are you just TRYING to cause deep and hemorrhagic bleeding inside of me?

Maybe someday I will say that. In the meantime, I usually smile and walk away. I nod and start a meeting. Or in this case, I go into downward-facing dog. I do it to stop having to talk about how lucky I am to not have children. I do it to avoid having to chatter about how languid and easy my weekends must be.

I do it to hide my face.

On Monday there was an accident-Melissa, an avid horse-rider, had a fall. Angus' ex left him a hasty message on his mobile, a message that didn't give all the info, a message that sent him into a panic. By the time we were able to talk he'd had more info-Melissa is OK and at home with some nasty bumps and bruises-but he was badly shaken.

I feel so horribly awful for Melissa, whom I wish I could help comfort, and for Angus, whom I just love so much. I give comfort, but it's not enough, really. It's not enough to offer words and a hug and quiet tiptoeing around the house if you just don't know how it feels. Angus' concern and worry was so great it was nearly palpable, floating in the air at the top of the rooms of the house and encircling the irises in his eyes. I don't know what it's like to imagine the worst from something that is so indelibly a part of you. I don't know what it's like to go wild with hurt when they hurt.

I know what it's like to despise a woman for pushing a baby stroller, and hating yourself for the jealouse hatred.

I know what it's like to feel like you will always be the fun and cool aunt instead of the loving and omnipresent mom.

I know the color of the cotton crotch in underwear as you watch, constantly checking.

I know what it's like to sob as the shower water pings off your back and helps scrub the leaking and the dreams away.

I know what it's like to put your hopes and dreams in the realms of science, to play crap shoot with the odds in hopes that needles and bruises will end in joy and praying to any god you think might have half an ear turned to you.

Like the wrapping paper, sparkly yellow stars are just out of my reach, only my stars come with drool and baby powder and endless nights of me hoping for their future.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 07:05 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment
Post contains 1156 words, total size 6 kb.

1 "if you just don't know how it feels" I think you do, Helen. For the most part, anyway. Imagine getting that call about Angus. Well, no. Don't do that because if you really imagined gettng that call about Angus you'd get mighty upset and there's no need for that. I mean of course that you're not a stranger of love that strong and the way Angus felt after that first call is not something that is outside of the realm of possibility for you. Right now. I'm popping M&Ms for pro-IVF mojo. I've turned to the Dark Side too. Dark chocolate is so much better than milk chocolate that it's got to generate worlds more mojo. ;-)

Posted by: Jim at May 11, 2005 10:22 AM (MDLz3)

2 Keep reaching for those stars, Helen. I, for one, firmly believe you'll get there.

Posted by: RP at May 11, 2005 12:07 PM (LlPKh)

3 You're getting better OTJ training than you realize. All new parents fumble around with this tiny person that is totally dependent on you for all of it's needs, with absoulutely no fucking idea of what to do. The sheer terror when you take that baby home is palpable. You're watching a great parent in action, and getting the opportunity to pinch hit occasionally. When your baby does arrive you'll be more ready than most. **BIG HUG**

Posted by: ~Easy at May 11, 2005 01:13 PM (npJc/)

4 yes. i do know how it feels when others make comments just like that. i also know .....that 14 years...of comments like that - i found that life is a crazy thing. ....and that there realy is nothing others can say. but i'll say it anyway. hold on. you never do know. i am by far proof of that. i wish for you to be the same....

Posted by: sn at May 11, 2005 01:26 PM (6FCAy)

5 wishin, hopin and prayin for you darlin. *much love*

Posted by: kat at May 11, 2005 01:39 PM (tKEYX)

6 Keep reaching for those stars sweetie. And Jim has a point (sick, but a point none the less lol) And in time as you and Angus's children get to know each other better over the years, you will have all the fears and worries about them too. And all the happy joy when the acomplish something. Keeping my fingers crossed that your IVF come through for you.

Posted by: justme at May 11, 2005 01:58 PM (/jcCO)

7 helen, i'm a stepmom. it's hard at first, not knowing for sure if you are doing things right. having to step aside when mom wants something in conflict with what you want for the kids, even when you both have their best interests at heart. what i hate is being told that i'm not a parent - that i don't know what it's like to be a parent. i am, dammit, even if i didn't birth her. i care what happens to her; i want the best for her; she's been in my life long enough that she's part of me now, too. you'll do better, you'll learn how to handle things. it just takes time. don't give up. as for the rest of it, big hugs. i truly hope the ivf works for you and gives you what you want most of all.

Posted by: becky at May 11, 2005 03:36 PM (/VG77)

8 I kind of wonder sometimes if child isn't a natural state for us all, and adult only comes into play as we age, get jaded, and forget what its like to have the amazment, interest, awe of a child. I think you may have a very unique gift, even if it comes in a bit of a thorny package, in that you seem to be way more in tune with whats going on in young minds, a closer link to what they are thinking. I am not calling you childish, I just sense you are more in touch with that side of you than most. How you talk to children, interact, it shows. Personally I think its what will make you the best stepmom Angus's kids could ever have, and a great mom to your own. All extremities will be crossed when IVF time comes around

Posted by: Dane at May 11, 2005 05:15 PM (ncyv4)

9 Substitute "childless" for "single" and there's my life in your rant against late woman. I hope the best for you, I hope you get the little one you want and will love. But, do not forget adoption. My aunt did it, and I am so happy she did, because it gave me perspectives on life and motherhood that I never would have known existed had I not seen her with my two (adopted) cousins.

Posted by: Ari at May 11, 2005 10:53 PM (PCRbg)

10 i read this blog all the time, and i'm sorry, but you chose this infertility. you chose the tube-tying. it has had a painful result in that you've changed your mind, but give the whole story. your choice has caused this problem, not anything natural, and you're not in the same leauges as women who can't have children through no fault of their own.

Posted by: hilary at May 12, 2005 12:22 AM (qIqUu)

11 helen.. i know those feelings too they are hard and they are painful i will keep hoping for you i received my miracle. i hope you do too.

Posted by: keira at May 12, 2005 04:38 AM (lXI/v)

12 I don't subscribe to categories of infertility, or that some women have no right to be upset about it. It's simple-some women can have babies, some can't. Why they can't is irrelevant.

Posted by: Helen at May 12, 2005 11:20 AM (AabhR)

13 Im so sorry for your pain. You might want to consider that the woman was just trying to be friendly. A few of my friends have chosen to live exactly the kind of life you lead, chosen to live without children, and they get offended when someone assumes they want children. Im sure if you had been a little honest with her she would've responded appropriately and wished you much luck as do we all.

Posted by: That Girl at May 12, 2005 01:44 PM (gu1Ur)

14 Hilary - empty arms are empty arms!! Who cares how you got them. Sheesh... ... and before you ask YES I am infertile after 10 years of trying and 3 years of IVF in March I was told there is no point continuing with IVF that we will never have a child. Worst of all the RE can't find one reason that we can't after 11 IVF cycles. (

Posted by: Flikka at May 13, 2005 04:45 AM (puvdD)

15 Nice Blog! you are from New York? Greetz from Kroatien! I am just in Kroatien

Posted by: Kroatien Ferienhaus at May 16, 2005 02:03 PM (q1Mqk)

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