We are pressing the pause button on our baby making efforts. After 2 1/2 years, a dozen doctors, a gazillion tests, and no real answers, I’m spent. I just need a damn break.

I’ve been playing around with this idea for months now and yesterday was the final straw. I started feeling this way a few months ago and decided that I was going to stop all my supplements and see how my body reacted. Not much happened. Then, this past cycle, I just couldn’t get it up to actually temp, test, and do everything. So I didn’t.
Then, yesterday I got my period and then shortly thereafter got a call from the most recent fertility doctor that I had seen saying that was being dropped from care for refusing IVF and other measures. His words were, “I have a waiting list and you are taking a spot away from someone who actually wants help to have a baby.” I had made it very clear from the second that I went to his office that I was there for diagnostic purposes, in case there was something the others missed- and that IVF and IUI were not options for us. I don’t have tens of thousands of dollars for ONE round of IVF- and statistically it takes 3 to be successful. I don’t need Clomid. I ovulate. I have good egg quality. Adequate lining. Because they have no answers, they just throw things at me. When I ask why, they say, “Well, what do you want me to say? Nothing is wrong that I can find, but you’re not pregnant. So just start Assisted Reproductive Therapy.”

I thought my experiences with OBs in pregnancy were degrading and belittling- they don’t even hold a candle to what I’ve been told from REs and OBs about my “unexplained secondary infertility.” Everything from “Just go home and drink some wine- you’ll get pregnant.” to “You obviously don’t really want another child if you are refusing to do x,y,z procedure.” The fact that these “care providers” can be so unbelievably condescending and cold is beyond me. Don’t they understand that the people they see are in such pain already? That they are sad and in desperate need of answers- any answers?

Goodbye, pee sticks!!!!

Needless to say I spent 99% of yesterday crying. That, coupled with some other jerky people, completely ruined my day more than it already had been ruined. I called Mr. Hipster and said between sobs, “I can’t do this any more. I CAN’T. I NEED A BREAK. I’M DONE.” I kept saying over and over, “I never thought this would be our story. I never thought this would be what happened to us.” I think every couple struggling to conceive has felt the same way. Especially those who had no trouble conceiving the first (or second) time around.

So, we talked it over, and a break is happening. Right now it is for the summer, but I am leaning towards it being

indefinite. Of course, I can (and probably will) change my mind at some point. At some point in time, I’ll be ready to try this all again. I want to take this summer to get back to be ME. To take my Burlesque classes, go to the gym, go out with my girlfriends, and just HAVE FUN. I packed away all of the OPKs, the ferning scope, the pregnancy tests. I have a blood test this cycle, so I still need to temp, but after that, it’s getting put away, too. It was so liberating to kiss that shit goodbye, even just for the summer.

We started this journey when Sawyer was 14 months old. He’s now 3.5 months shy of being 4 years old. We’ve been on this journey for most of his life- so much so that for most of his existence I have been focused on making us a family of FOUR. I’m starting to be at peace with the fact that we are a family of three. A beautiful, healthy, happy family of three. It’s time to enjoy us. Just as we are.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted pictures of myself in my underwear on the internet. Remember that?

Well, I’ve been doing really great at staying positive about my body- for the most part. I’m wearing my cute clothes again, doing my hair, busing out my sassy vintage pajamas…. Just really, really trying to own the body that I have. I’m finding that by doing that, I’m getting (slowly) closer to the body that I want.

I’m more motivated to work out and be active because I’m not constantly beating myself up for being a little fluffier than I normally am. I’m not huge or overweight by any means. I’m a size 8 – maybe a 10 in some brands. Nothing crazy, but I’m used to being a 4 or a 6. It’s been a big change, and I’m trying to embrace it.

My body may be a bit bigger and a bit different, but it’s STRONG. It’s fluffy and soft in places, but still strong. Case in point, I can plank way longer than Mr. Hipster can. I can also squat better, do more push ups, and do more yoga poses. I can’t touch my toes, but I can put my leg behind my head!

So, phase 2 of Loving THIS body- I am going to do something that I have wanted to do for forever, and have been

The Lovely Dita von Teese, the darling of modern burlesque!

way too chicken to actually pursue. I’m going to take BURLESQUE dance classes! My mama found a Groupon for a studio in the city called Vaudezilla that does classes for beginners. I won’t be able to start classes until July, but I am soooooooo excited to try it out! I’m also terrified. I am uncoordinated when it comes to matters of dance, and sexy I am NOT. Cute? Charming? Loud? Yes. Sexy? I don’t think so.

I am hoping that having to be made to get in touch with that part of myself with foster confidence, be fun, and probably pretty silly as well. I just hope the teachers are nice and don’t laugh at my horrible dance skills. If this is a repeat of my Zumba experience (when they stopped class because they thought I was having a seizure!), I’m going to cry. Forever. And never dance again. And then I’ll never have an excuse to own pasties or boobie tassels! What will become of this world if that happens?!

What do you guys think? Will Burlesque be fun? Have you taken it? Would you? Am I going to make a complete and utter ass out of myself?

So, last week I was interviewed by a reporter who writes for Newsweek and the Daily Beast about a book that I was interviewed for some time ago (like well over a year ago!) about what is called the “new domesticity.” You know, women who knit, can, crochet, homestead, homeschool, leave their jobs,  and basically turn their backs on corporate life to make something new for themselves. (They can do any number of those listed things not necessarily all of them. Just to be clear).

Overall, the reporter was very nice and her questions were pretty expected, however there were a few that caught me off guard, and that I didn’t realize until a few days later were extremely patronizing and misogynistic, although I truly don’t believe that she meant them to be. Again, I don’t think that the reporter was trying to be rude or belittling-  I really feel that it is so entrenched in our culture that unless a women does x,y,z she’s being “subservient” or isn’t really a feminist.

(Side note: I was in the car with a screaming kid on my hands free set, so I wasn’t exactly my sharpest either!).

One of the questions that she asked really bothered me- “But don’t you ever worry about what you would do if you got divorced or your husband died? How would you provide for your child and yourself?” Um, I would keep working. I have my own business. Would I maybe have to pick up a part time job somewhere to help make ends meet? Sure, but I ALREADY provide for my child and myself. Yes, my husband is the primary earner, but my job is nothing to turn up your nose at. It pays for unexpected expenses, preschool, holidays, vacation, medical expenses, and more. If I wasn’t working last year when things were really, really tight we’d either be in tons of debt or be homeless.

The other part of this is that the question pretty much implies that my job isn’t “real” or “useful.” I beg to differ. My job is very real. My family and I have made sacrifices for me to be able to do my job. The contributions I make to the world are very real ones. I help educate and support families during the most magical time in their lives. But no, no, that’s not a real job! It’s not Corporate America!

Or the question, “Do you have any plans on going back to the workforce full time?” - Um, I DO work full time already. Yes, do I plan on doing something on a bigger scale when my child is older? Yes. However, I will always be my own boss. I plan on growing my childbirth business, and becoming a chiropractor in the long run.

Questions like this just perpetuate misogyny. They basically state that the only work that matters is the kind that exists in the confines of the corporate, male dominated work force. In a struggling economy, how does this type of thinking help anyone? It doesn’t. Women, men, and families need to be creative in order to put food on the table. Women who own Etsy shops, own their own small businesses, or find some other way to make money are no less valuable than a woman with a corner office.

Also, what about doing work that makes a person happy? Does that not count for anything? I do meaningful work that makes me happy. We have forgone things that we may have been able to afford otherwise to make that happen. (And same goes for Mr. Hipster- he loves being a teacher, and we have a more modest lifestyle because of it).

I couldn’t help but think, “What if I was a man? Would they be asking these questions this way?” The answer is no. When a man decides to turn his back on corporate life and starts his own business, he’s called brave and innovative. I’m branded as a “glorified stay at home mother” or asked what I’ll do when my spouse dies because my job clearly isn’t good enough.

I work my ass off for my students and to help provide for my family. I am a feminist. Get over it.

How are women supposed to actually get ahead when we can’t even support each other in our choices? Just because I am choosing this life doesn’t mean that I think women who pursue corporate jobs are useless. Why can’t they see my job in that way?

::End Rant::

My most “domestic” looking picture. You know, for the irony.

I like most women, have some body image issues. I wish I had a bigger chin, a less round face, a flatter tummy, etc. Less cellulite on my upper thighs- no stretch marks, etc. The past year has been a rough one for me in almost every way, and my body has taken a huge hit. I’ve gained a little bit of weight and can’t seem to get it off. (No, nothing is wrong- everything has been checked multiple times. It’s just “approaching 30).

After Sawyer was born, I had no trouble losing the weight. By 6 months post partum, I was skinnier than I had been on my wedding day. Aside from the stretch marks, I looked and felt AWESOME. Things stayed that way until about a year ago. Suddenly, everything went south. Looking back, I think it was the rapid decline in his nursing that caused my body some issues. I started to gain weight without doing anything differently. Oh, and my hair started to fall out. I never had the post partum hair loss that some women talk about, so I guess it just came late for me.

The last couple of months have been extremely difficult, as we approach warmer weather and the horrid swimsuit season. I’ve felt really down about how I look and why my body isn’t cooperating. I’ve gotten a bit lazy, too. I haven’t been running in over a month, and I’ve only been doing yoga once or twice a week instead of my usual 3-5.

There are things I like about my body-don’t get me wrong. I am petite and curvy and I love that. I have a Joan Harris type of body and I love it’s feminine softness. My “jang” as I call my belly chub, can go. I don’t even much mind the stretch marks anymore. The saggy skin sucks, though.

So, I’ve decided to challenge myself. A challenge to love THIS body. The body I have, not the body I want. Yes, I will still work out and eat healthy. Yes, I still want to lose 10-15 pounds. However, feeling bad about myself until I get there doesn’t do anyone any good. So, for the next 60 days (55 actually, I started a few days ago)- I am not going to say anything bad about how I look. I am going to love my body for the beauty it has in its current state. I am going to love my body for what it can do. So, in an effort to really, really do that, I am going to show you all my body. YUP. Below are pictures of me in my skivvies. No makeup, unshowered, not sucking it in, not looking for the best angles. Just me, how I actually look under my clothes.

Yup, this is me.

Side view.

Closer look at the stretch marks and saggy tummy skin.

Do you love your body? Is it hard for you to do so? Tell me all about it!

Like Marshall and Lily, we love to high five.

Are you familiar with the CBS show “How I Met Your Mother?” Well, Kevin and I are about as close to a real life Marshall Eriksen and Lily Aldrin as you can get. There was seriously a time when we thought that someone from the show had to be following us around because there was no way our lives could be this similar without there being some sort of spy. Plus, we’ve been together longer than that show has been on.

A little background, if you aren’t familiar- the show focuses on Ted Mosby, who is looking to find his soulmate. His roomies (and best friends) are long time couple Marshall and Lily. It follows the group throughout Ted’s quest to find the mother (which in like 8 seasons, it still hasn’t done, what the hell!?!?!).

Here are all of the many, many ways we are Marshall and Lily:

• We, like Marshall and Lily- met the first week of college. Although, unlike our fictional doppelgangers, we didn’t start dating right away. It took several months for us to get together.
  

  College Marshall and Lily

• One of us studied abroad for a time, and it was very hard on both of us. (On the show, Lily spends a summer in France, in my life, Kevin spent a month in London).

• Marshall is very tall, and Lily very short. Mr. Hipster is 6’5 1/2″ and I am 5’3″.

• We, like M&L, had the best friend looking for love who lived with us. Unlike the show, it didn’t take him 8 seasons to find her! Mr. H’s BFF found his match shortly after he moved in with us. They are now married and have a gorgeous little girl. (Whoa! We know Ted’s oldest child is a girl…. that didn’t even click until I wrote that sentence!)

• We are each others first, last, and only. You know what I mean.
  

  The slanted apartment

• We lived in an apartment with markedly slanted floors. Really. You think you’ve got slanted floors in your place? No. You have NO idea. It was like living in a fun house. However, I still love that place. The memories we shared there were incredible. Plus, we made Sawyer there! (And they made their baby in their slanty apartment, too!)

• We both use the same toothbrush. I know, it’s gross. It just happens. Although, since he barfed last weekend, I bought my own!
  

  Gouda?

• We have awesome dinner parties, and we ALWAYS have fancy cheese.

• Much like Marshall, Mr. Hipster loves to send people weird emails and text messages.

• Like Lily, I am an awesome cook.

• We totally have telepathic conversations.

• We have contemplated buying a bed that is solely for sex.

• We’ve had trouble conceiving for no known reason.

• We have hid in the bathroom while our roommate was busy hooking up.

• We were the first in our group to get married and have a child.

• Like Marshmallow and Lilypad, we have cutie pie nicknames for each other.

• We almost didn’t get married. (Bet you didn’t see that one coming!)

• Like Lily, I love to play matchmaker.

• We have weird, sassy dances we do when we make a point.

• We have a Robin (two, actually!). We have a Barney. (His name isn’t actually Barney, but he’s totally a Barney).

• Like Lily, I have felt displaced by Woo Girls. I wrote all about it here.
  

  Minus the balloons, I think.

• This has totally happened to us:

• Like Marshall, Kevin can’t wink.

• We make up dumb rhymes to remember things.

• I have been, and always will be the mom of the group.

• Much like Lily, I have a pretty high libido, and get bummed that I, too, can’t play drinking games like “Never Have I Ever,” because, as Lily says, “Then everyone would know all the weird stuff I let you do to me!”

• We considered coming up with our own last name when we got married. (Marshall and Lily decided to be Mr. and Mrs. Awesome).

• Most of all, we are each others best friend and we love one another like mad.

Word.

On Friday, April 19th, Mr. Hipster and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary. Yes, TEN YEARS! (In case you want to skip the rest of this post, there are some really fun pictures at the end).

Now, this is the part that confuses people- we’re not talking about celebrating ten years of marriage (we’ll be married 5 years in July). We’re talking about 10 years since we first started dating. I know that most people don’t celebrate their “dating” anniversary once they get married, but we do. Actually, we tend to celebrate it more than we do our wedding anniversary. This one just seems more special to us.

So, how does one ring in a decade of pure awesomeness? Well, we did some calculating and realized that we could go out to a fancy dinner  or we could do ALL of the following things for the same amount of already budgeted money: make our own fancy dinner at home, get drinks with friends and then have more drinks at our house with friends, and go out to a fancy brunch.

So, we did. Friday night, I cooked up some delicious 8 ounce filets that I got on sale at Whole Foods for $16 total. I pan seared them in butter and rosemary, and finished them off in the oven, along with some sauteed swiss chard, and roasted potatoes and butternut squash. It was delicious- even though we ate it while watching news coverage of the manhunt for the Boston bombing suspect.

Saturday, Sawyer went to spend the night with Papa, Mema, and his cousins, while we went out for drinks and then had some friends back to our place for even more drinks. It was great fun. Great fun until after a few too many I got really paranoid that my very cute dress made me look like Raggedy Anne, and was screaming for Kevin to unzip me so I could change. He ended up tossing his cookies all over the hallway, which was less than lovely. Still fun, though.

Sunday, we went out for brunch at the same place that we had our wedding reception. It was the perfect cure for our hangovers, and the perfect end to our lovely anniversary weekend. We don’t often get to spend a whole weekend being together and basking in the glow of our love. After a week of sadness and disappointment, it really was what we needed.

Our view from our brunch table. Beautiful, isn’t it? The Pavilion you see is the entrance to the room we had our wedding reception in in 2008.

I realized that I have NO pictures of the two of us from the past YEAR. So, we remedied that this weekend!

Brunch yummies. This was plate 1 of 4.

Aren’t we adorbs?!

And now for a trip down memory lane- some moments from the past 10 years………

Kevin’s 21st Birthday (2005). I think we were both pretty lubricated at this point.

This was a pool party in 2007, I think? I don’t wear bikini tops under dresses, generally.

This is 2006. Kevin’s apartment with Ian. It was disgusting.

This has to be 2005? Either way, I love this picture.

New Year’s Day 2008. Such a long, long time ago!

Our wedding reception in 2008. I am pretty sure we were singing “Livin’ Thing” by ELO in this.

Also, for those interested, on Friday I will be posting more about our actual love story. If you are fans of How I Met Your Mother, you will especially enjoy it!

Seriously, WTF is that?!?!

Yup. You read that right. See that picture? Yeah, that’s what I got in the mail this week. A freaking membership card for AARP. I am turning 30 at the end of this year, not 50! And that’s not even my last name anymore! Geez. Get your act together, AARP.

I have been super psyched to turn 30 for the longest time. 30 is the new 20, isn’t it? All of my friends who have already turned 30 have only solidified my excitement. They all say that your 30s are so much more fun than your 20s, and that your sense of self is so much more secure. I’ve  also had this long standing fantasy that at 30 I will somehow actually look my age, and people will stop asking me when I am going to graduate high school. (This isn’t me exaggerating, I swear. It happens on a weekly basis, if not more, especially with the frequency with which I purchase wine).

Now, with the arrival of this stupid piece of plastic, I am questioning the milestone that I was embracing. Am I really getting old? If AARP is coming after me, I am definitely not YOUNG anymore, right? I mean, we don’t own a house. We only have 1 kid. We finally got a bed that isn’t broken. I don’t own any nice furniture. Am I ready to be 30? Am I an actual grown up? Are my 30s going to be as awesome as I think they are? Is this all going to be one big let down?

Hopefully not. I have a whole slew of things I am planning to do when I turn 30. Here are some of them:

• I am going to get a tattoo of a pregnant pin-up girl (This has been planned for like 10 years)
• Hopefully I will get pregnant or give birth (or both!)
• Have consistent (as much as it can be!) HypnoBirthing® students and placenta encapsulation clients
• Drop 10 pounds
• Do yoga 5x per week
• Give up my PMS pass for drinking soda
• Be happy

Or it doesn’t have to mean boring sex.

What is it about our culture that perpetuates the myth that marriage and children signals the end of sex? Um, where do all of these new people come from then, exactly?

Many of my recent posts have been sparked by ignorant or ridiculous things others have said to me, and this is no exception. I am going to address some of their “concerns” and “advice” here.

Marriage signals the end of an active, happy sex life.

We’ve all heard some asshat crack a joke about this right, “Oooh, you’re married. You must have to beg for it” or crap like that.

I am sure there are married couples who don’t  have sex, or have sex very little. Yet, I highly, highly doubt they are the majority of married couples.

I just don’t see how this is supposed to be true. Isn’t the old saying “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage?” Babies mean you have sex (in most cases, not all, obviously.) A good chunk of married folks want kids. Therefore, married people have sex, y’all.

Have any of you actively tried to get pregnant? All you do is have sex.

Kids mean an end to loud sex/kinky sex/sex that lasts more than 30 seconds.

I will tackle these one at a time.

In regards to loud sex- I had a baby who never freaking slept and he STILL could sleep through loud sex. Lots of babies can sleep through it, especially if you throw on a good ole white noise machine. Even toddlers are pretty sound sleepers. I know my days of loud sex cries are numbered as S approaches school age. Live it up, ladies. Seriously. Moan and groan your little hearts out.

Kinky sex- Everyone has their own feelings about what types/degrees of kink they are comfortable with. No one should do something they don’t like or feel comfortable with, especially in the bedroom. However, the myth that once you become a parent you need to throw away the fuzzy handcuffs and only do it missionary, in the master bedroom, with the lights off is just downright ridiculous. Be kinky if you want to! Let your freak flag fly high! No one is saying you have to have ball gags and spiked collars (and that’s totally cool if you do!). Small amounts of kink can be a whole lot of fun. Use scarves or neckties to gently restrain each other or blindfold each other. Give or receive a nice slap on the tush during the act. Keep it simple. If anything, it’s a great way to get out some of that aggression from hearing “Mooooommmmy!!!!!!!!!!!! Nooooooooooooo! Not thoooooooooooose socks!” all day long. Talk dirty. Pull some hair. Moms and dads need to be a little freaky, too!

30 second sex- Yes, in parenthood, many times quickies are the necessary arrangement. But they don’t have to be. Look at your baby’s sleep schedule. Do your best to maximize your time. Or you just have sex when they are awake! I’m not huge into the TV being the babysitter, but I am not above throwing on an episode of Dinosaur Train or Doctor Who (if we want some serious time!) to get the job done. You do chance getting walked in on, but you have to weigh the benefits and risks for yourself, dear.

If you cosleep/bedshare you don’t have sex.

Um, no. Again, this one perpetuates the myth that sex only takes place in the master bedroom. It doesn’t! If you bedshare, have sex in another room. Or on the floor, or the couch, or the kitchen table….

I once had a woman tell me that the reason I didn’t have another child was because Sawyer sleeps in bed with us most nights. How ridiculous! I actually prefer my sex space and sleep space to be separate. Wouldn’t it be great it we all just had sex beds?

If you look “down there” while your woman is giving birth, you’ll never have sex again.

This is so fucking misogynistic I didn’t even want to acknowledge it, but it comes up in my classes almost every single series. I have attended 70+ births in my time as a doula, and 99% of dads look. Trust me, they aren’t in sexless relationships. This is just a really horrid perpetuation of the Madonna/Whore complex. Once you’re a mother, the world is supposed to see you as “pure” or whatever that even means. How about we’re just women? As mothers we obviously aren’t virgins and we aren’t whores either. We’re nurturing beings, but also sexual beings. Deal with it.

After having a baby, your vagina will be ruined and sex will never be the same.

There are women who have true damage from birth and healing takes a long time. Some may have a hard time enjoying sex. That sucks. I feel for them with every fiber of my being. Sex shouldn’t be a stressful or painful situation. However, it is important to realize that these situations are the exception, not the rule. Most women will have no noticeable difference in vaginal tightness or sensation. Some even report quite the opposite!

Lots of women are afraid to have sex after having a baby because they are afraid it will hurt. The first time you have sex after having a baby can be a bit scary and even awkward. Wait until you feel ready. It took me 3 solid months after Sawyer was born to feel ready to have sex. I was terrified of getting pregnant too soon (what a cruel joke!). There are lots of other sexy things to do until you feel ready. When the time comes, take it slow. Enjoy being close to your partner.

To that end, go get laid folks. And make it kinky if you can. Tell them I said so.

So, am I? I struggle with this question on an almost daily basis. “Blogger” seems to have a pretty lowly connotation in the world of writers, so I am always afraid to say what it is that I am. Am I a blogger? YES. Obviously. Am I a writer? I still have to figure that one out.

It’s funny, in my relationship I always see Mr. Hipster as the “writer.” He goes off to write several hours a week, or takes an extra hour or two before/after work to write before coming home. He’s been working on short stories and a freaking NOVEL for the last 5 years or so. To me, he’s the real creative one, and I’m just pretending. He’s Van Gough, and I make black velvet paintings of Elvis. Really, he writes beautiful, painfully creative stories that cause you to really think about what you believe. I write about our son rubbing shit water in his eye. Or people who are assholes to breastfeeding mothers. You can see why I have issues with this, right?

I feel like “real” writers still use typewriters. Maybe that’s my Hipster coming out!

Except, I write. I write posts here every week, and I write little blurbs and snippets on Facebook and Twitter every day. But does that make me a writer? Can you hear the uncertainty in my voice as I type this?

Is this because it seems like everyone and their mother has become a blogger that I feel this way? Am I a pretentious douche because by writing the previous sentence I have implied that I am not just another blogger? That I am somehow “special?” I don’t know. I just know that I am really struggling with this. Can I be both? Can I be a blogger and a writer? Are they mutually exclusive? Or are they really the same thing? Just like there are good chefs and bad chefs, they are still chefs, yes? It would suggest that the same goes for bloggers and writers. At this point, I think it is safe to say that I am a professional blogger/writer. Not that I’m making any money on this venture, but it’s definitely not a hobby at this point.

So, why the sudden need to express my inner turmoil over this? Because I want to write a book. I really, really, REALLY want to write a book. Ideally, a book about pregnancy and birth. A Hipster’s Guide, if you will. Except I have no idea how to make this dream a reality. I just have half written chapters saved on my Macbook. I’ve been keeping this little secret for  a while now, and it’s a huge deal for me to share it with all of you. I didn’t even tell my husband that I had this ambition until 2 days ago! It’s my brain baby. Something I am carefully nurturing and gestating, and am not yet ready to share with the world. One day, it will be ready. One day, hopefully, someone will want to publish it, and you all will want to buy it.

So, fellow Hipsters, should I go for it? Should I try to write a book? Do you think anyone would be interested in it?

I have come to the stark realization lately that, as usual, I don’t fit in.

I’ve dabbled in different facebook groups, cafemom forums, and yahoo groups for women who are TTC (trying to conceive). I have yet to find one that feels supportive of my personal beliefs regarding my own fertility path, and my thoughts on birth itself. Every time I join a group it’s with the hope that maybe this time, this time- I will find someone like me. I’m still searching. I am polite and often quiet on these forums because anytime I bring up the fact that I am a childbirth educator, doula, and placenta encapsulation specialist, heads roll. Mention natural birth, or heaven forbid- home birth- and I’m immediately asked to leave.

Where are my crunchy mamas who are trying to get themselves good and knocked up? It can’t be just me, right? Tell me you exist, please!

I feel like I have no one to talk to about the ups and downs of this ridiculous quest for another baby. If the women who are just as fervent and motivated to have a baby as I am can’t accept me, who can?!

I am so sick of seeing this.

To be perfectly honest, I have been feeling totally hopeless in this journey lately. I am doing so much to get my body and mind in a good place. I am healthy, I am active, I take vitamins, herbs, and supplements. I do acupuncture when I can afford it. I get awesome Mayan Abdominal Therapy. I don’t know what else I am supposed to be doing. Other than IUI and IVF (which aren’t options for us, so please don’t suggest them), I’ve done everything imaginable. I’m starting to feel like my oven is just inexplicably broken.

If one more person says, “Just stop trying!!!” I will go chimp on their asses. Have you ever decided that you want another child? How easy is it to just go back on that? It’s impossible. It really is. This isn’t like deciding you want a new hair color, or you want to look for a new job. This is something wholly different. It’s wanting to grow and nurture a life. I don’t understand how I am supposed to just turn that off and not care anymore. I just can’t. Why can’t anyone understand that?

Then, something beautiful happened. At MommyCon I was approached by a mom I had met a few years prior (and she’s a reader, how coincidental!). She, too, had gone through the hell that is infertility. She now has two beautiful babies. She looked at me with knowing eyes and put her hand on mine and said, “It will happen. I’ve been on both sides of this and you will be, too.” I sat in the bathroom and cried for a few very long minutes. I went home and cried when I told my husband. I’ve cried every single time I’ve thought about it. It was exactly what I needed to hear. I know that I’m at the bottom of this pit of anguish, and that the light will be coming soon.

(Funny, as I was trying write “hopeless” I kept typing “hopeful.” Freudian slip, much!?! Also, while writing this, the first song that came on my Pandora was “Hold on to What You Believe” by Mumford and Sons. Maybe I need to be paying more attention to the universe).