1) At 9:52 pm, I got my 10,000 hit on this blog. I know, lots of sites get more than that in a day. But I’m excited. Thanks for reading.
2) I’ve been nominated for Best New Blog in the Koufax awards. It’s an honor just to be mentioned, and I know I have absolutely no chance of winning, but it would be nice to get a vote or two.
3) With this post, I’m nominating myself for the "Land Mine" award (part of Feministe’s Anti-Awards, Part Deux)
I want to make a confession: even after having read a bunch of the fabulous infertility and assisted reproduction blogs out there, like Chez Miscarriage, and I wasted all that birth control, and a little pregnant, I don’t get it. I still don’t get why people put themselves through such emotional, physical, and financial torture to conceive and bear a child. I adore my sons, and am very grateful that they’re in my life, but if I hadn’t been able to get pregnant, I wouldn’t have made the sacrifices these women (and many others) have made. That sort of baby-hunger is as alien to me as James Boylan’s conviction that he was a woman.
As an outsider to this world, someone who has never had to deal with infertility, I can’t help but wondering whether assisted reproduction has increased or decreased the net amount of happiness in the world. On the one side are those people who’ve successfully had children with the help of modern medical miracles. But on the other side are the people whose heartache has been drawn out for months or years as they ride the reproductive rollercoaster, and those who must endlessly second-guess themselves, wondering whether things would have been different if they tried just one more time.
I’m calling this a land mine because, as Jen at Buddha Mama and I have discussed, it’s hard to talk about the choices that we make without it seeming like we’re implicitly criticizing those who have made other choices. And that’s truly not my desire. I’ve actually started to post about this before, and then stopped, for fear of giving pain to people who are already dealing with more than their share of grief. But I think it’s worth talking about, to open a dialogue, as well as to paint a fuller picture of the diversity of parenting experiences. I want to tell people that you can be a good mother even if you don’t have that sort of passionate need to be one, even if you could imagine having a happy and full life without children.
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I’m updating this to try to respond to some of the comments I’ve been getting from some of the visitors I’ve received via Uterine Wars. Let me start by thanking you for taking the time to comment, for being willing to engage in dialogue. I appreciate it; I know it’s not your job in life to educate me.
A few of the commenters have written that you didn’t imagine or couldn’t have imagined making the choices you’ve made, until you were actually in the situation. That’s a powerful (and slightly frightening) statement about the limits of our ability to put ourselves in a different situation. I hear you, and I’ll be more careful in the future about saying what I would or wouldn’t do — I can only say what my best guess is, from the perspective of who I am now.
But some of the commenters implied that I’d definitely make the same choices they are making if I were in their situation. I still reject this statement; there are many other women who are in their situation who make different choices. Heck, there are many woman who make a deliberate choice not to have children, regardless of their fertility status. That’s part of what makes life fascinating; we are all different people and make different choices.
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One more thought. I am truly sorry to have caused pain, and I can tell, from both the comments and the referring posts, that I have. I started this post saying I was making a confession, because I believe that my inability to "get it" is a failure of empathy on my part — although some of you are telling me that no fertile woman will ever "get it." Saying I "don’t get" your choices is different than saying I think you’re making a bad choice.