I’m sitting at my desk at work. It’s 7:53am. And I’m sobbing.

It’s all just too much. And I can’t keep up. And I’m a horrible teacher and my kids are suffering for it. And there are very large, very important projects that aren’t getting done. These are the kinds of projects that need to get done because if they don’t, whole communities of people will be upset and disappointed. And angry.

But I don’t know what I’m doing and there is no time to learn. There aren’t enough minutes in the day and I’m drowning in my obligations.

I’m just so angry that I was put in this situation. I’ve given this school nine years of my life. I built their Spanish program from nothing. And what do I get in return? They slash my program to 1/3 its original size and totally fuck me over with all these classes I don’t know how to teach.

And things at home aren’t much better. I spent 20 minutes of my commute talking my daughter down from some horrific tantrum. These days only mommy will do and when I’m not there my husband suffers mightily for it. He, like me, is totally overwhelmed at work. Since the Newtown shooting he has been working at a fevered pitch. This is truly the watershed moment of this movement. If change doesn’t happen now, it probably never will, at least not for a long, long time. And so it’s crazy at work and both his bosses are on vacation and both their outgoing message direct inquiries to Mi.Vida, who is totally overwhelmed with media inquiries and everything else. My man is amazing, but he doesn’t handle stress well and the whole thing is just leveling him.

And so here I am. Crying alone in my classroom, wondering how I’ll get through the day. And really I just want to TALK to someone and maybe get a hug but there is no one to talk to so I’m writing to you. You, gentle readers, are all I have sometimes.

I just don’t know what to do. I guess just keep putting one foot in front of  the other and hope no one notices my puffy read eyes, or at least doesn’t have the balls enough to ask about them (middle school students usually do, though) and assume that at the end of this school year I’ll have produced the things I’m expected to produce so that no one is overly angry at me.

See, now that I got all that out I’m feeling better. Talking really does help.

What I wanted to write about today–before I got an email at work and my head exploded–was how hard it feels to be standing still while I watch everyone else move forward. Posts about cycles starting or being scheduled, pregnancy milestones being achieved, birth plans being prepared for, newborn routines being established puts into sharp focus just how long it will be until we can even take one step forward, let alone several.

Mi.Vida still doesn’t even have a urology appointment, as it takes his insurance provider FOREVER to process referrals. When he finally does get an appointment it will probably be months away, and then, if there really is in an infection that needs to be treated it will be another three months after that treatment until his swimmers show improvement. That means it won’t even be the summer before we can even think about treatments. My daughter will be turning three before we can even think about trying in earnest to get pregnant again.

And now I’m sobbing all over again, just writing that.

Because that is the other thing about all these posts focusing on current or upcoming treatments, all their babies are so much younger than Isa. They still have a chance at bringing home a sibling that isn’t so much younger than their first child. I don’t have that chance anymore. It’s gone, as if by magic–in a puff of smoke–it no longer exists.

How did I get here, hoping against hope that my children could please, please just be four years apart? How did I get to the place where I can’t imagine any of this working? Where the idea of being pregnant again makes me laugh at myself because it seems almost absurd. I can’t even imagine it anymore. I’ve lost the expectation of it and with that expectation went my ability to even dream it might be so.

I’m sure I just feel so hopeless because of some (very, very, tragically) sad news from yesterday. Two things actually, equally heartbreaking. And because work feels so overwhelming. And because the intense needs of my daughter and the stress of my partner and all the things that press down against me threatening to flatten me into nothing. I know I just have to breathe through this time, even if those breathes are staccato-ed with sobs. I know these are champagne problems, especially in the context of this community. I know, especially after the news of yesterday, that people live through so much worse. But somehow that perspective just makes me sadder.

I don’t really know how to end this, but I must. There are projects to be started and they aren’t going to get done with our some tired, halfhearted attention from me. This is my life. I must go live it.

UPDATE: I got my AMH levels back and evidently I have the ovarian reserves of a 40+ year old woman. The RE says that although IUI isn’t necessarily off the table, he recommends we go straight to IVF, which we can’t afford.  So yay for this fucking day.

18 responses

  1. I’m not sure if I’ve commented on your blog before, but I’ve been reading for a while. First of all, BIG HUGS to you! As a former teacher, I know how hard it can be to deal with high expectations, slashed budgets, and teaching unfamiliar classes. Gah… Add in toddler tantrums, TTC#2, busy husband, and winter weather…well, it can seem overwhelming.

    Don’t give up on your dreams, just slowly come to the realization that those dreams make take a different amount of time than you were hoping. When we first started TTCing, I never thought that I’d be at it for 3 years…or that in the end my son wouldn’t be biologically mine. But, when I look back on it, I was so focused on the timeline, that I didn’t really see what a blessing those days were.

    Be gentle with yourself. You are doing an amazing job.

  2. Here with you. And really: I am happy to be physically here too if you need me.

    I am so incredibly sorry. I have been crying like Elizabeth since hearing the news.

    I am here for you friend.


  3. HUGS!!! I know virtually it’s not the same, but it’s all I can do for you dear. I’m so sorry you are going through this. It seems like so much all at once. Thinking of you!

  4. Oh, sweetie. So much. All at once. Nonstop. I am so, so sorry that you’re dealing with so much right now. Huge hugs coming from me, and not for the first time, I wish I lived nearby so I could come over and hug you in person.


  5. oh my gawd. I am so sorry…I hope this additional virtual hug isn’t coming too late to be of any use. You are stronger than you feel right now, I just know it. Abiding with you, and hoping like hell that you get a fabulous break very soon.

  6. I’m so sorry. All of this is so difficult and I know it must feel like a punch in the gut. Thinking of you tonight and wish I could give you a giant hug.

  7. AND I’ll add that people keep telling me how smart it is that mine will be 5 years apart. No idea if it’s true, but it is easier than having a terrible 3 year old to have a somewhat independent 4 year old.

  8. I just want to give you a huge hug because nearly everything you’ve written here, I could have written myself, right down to the work getting slashed, things piling up at husband’s job and not being able to try again until after my kid turned 3, when the goal was no more than a 3 year gap. It sucks, no doubt about it. I’ll be thinking about you; I hope things start turning around.

  9. Wow, that sounds like a huge number of incredibly stressful things to be dealing with at once. I think I would have a hard time getting out of bed at this point.
    I just found your blog recently and am in a similar place, including mourning a larger-than-expected age gap between my first kiddo and the kid we hope to someday (pleasepleaseplease) conceive. I’m trying to believe that there are pluses and minuses to every age gap but that only helps sometimes.

  10. Joining chorus of friends who care about and are so sorry you are going through this. It just sucks. It really does. I remember how hard it was to watch the age difference between our son and his potential future sibling(s) get further and further a part. That used to really stress me out. But I can say that in the end, like so many things in life… There are definitely pros and cons to every age difference and even having an only (which I am not suggesting you think about now). I found myself over the years always trying to find the sliver linings in every scenario and that helped a bit, but it was still so hard. Sean and Abby are six years apart and though if you had told me back when he was 3 that we had 3 years to go it would have sounded so crazy overwhelming, I have been able to see so many positives to their age differences and overall they get a long really great. That said, I really wish you weren’t in this situation and that things in your life were not so stressful, that you didn’t have to wait so long for the next steps and that the next steps weren’t so pricey. ((((HUGS)))) Holding you close in my thoughts and prayers. I hope it brings some comfort to know that I have been there and am here to support you on your journey to try to expand your family, wherever that may lead you. You can do this.

    Last thing, when hit my “SIF bottom” as I tend to refer to it, I went to therapy and my therapist recommended that I practice therapeutic/restorative yoga every day for 20 mins. I would hold 4 – 6 comfortable poses for 3 – 5 minutes at a time while focusing on my breath. It really helped me take the process one day at a time. I also read the book Conquering Infertility by Alice Domar and that helped too. She has a great chapter about SIF, if you haven’t read it yet. Okay, hang in there. xoxo

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