Okay. I confess.

It’s getting towards the end of Week 9, and things are starting to change for me. Penny is still an absolute joy, but I’ve got to admit, for the first time since she came along I’ve felt… bored. Slap me on the wrist if you will. A few weeks ago a friend of mine asked, doesn’t it ever get boring? At the time I was taken aback. Never! No! I suppose sometimes the tenth nappy change of the day can feel a little tedious, and there is only so long you can commentate everything you’re doing before you start to feel a little bit nuts (“okay Penny, I’m just getting the soup out of the microwave now but we’ve got to be careful because it might be a bit hot, and now I’m just going to give it a stir, and let’s get some bread and butter out to have with the soup, mmm I’m spreading butter on the bread now, butter-butter-butter, so yummy!” etc), but it’s never boring. … Some time has passed. Can I reserve the right to change my mind?

I realised I felt this way today when we were supposed to do ‘something nice’ with Husbandito this morning but we ran out of time before he had to leave for work, and then my brunch plans fell through, and the babe was crying, and I met head on with the resignation that holy crap, if I want even a second to myself it is going to involve lying underneath her for at least half an hour patting her butt. Which in itself isn’t such an unpleasant thing, but still, to have to plan your day in three-hour-long chunks before the next feed can be more strenuous than it sounds. It’s not that you can’t do other stuff, you just have to be prepared. But preparation takes time, no matter how ready your nappy bag is or how well you’ve planned your outfit for maximum warmth with best boob accessibility. You can’t just duck around the corner for a bottle of milk any more. Not if she’s asleep and you want her to stay that way, anyway. And why is it that she can be quietly and happily sitting in her rocker and then start to scream the very moment I need to take a dump? And I still can’t go to the shops to get her a baby gym because I will never be able to carry the damned thing back with me on my own, and it is so fricking cold now that the lady headlights come on and ache like crazy and there is very little I can do about that unless I am making a new hot water bottle every couple of hours. Husbandito will call and I’ll say we’ve been dancing for the last twenty minutes and I’m tired, and he’ll say but that’s a nice thing to do isn’t it? And it’s like, well, yes, but the fun starts to wear off into the third hour. I’m sorry if I sound like an ungrateful, selfish old sod, but there it is.

I am realising many things about the way I am feeling. Ironically, you would think that the boredom should be easy to beat by meeting up with other new mums, but I find myself not wanting to do this so much. Don’t get me wrong. I love the girls from my prenatal classes and they have really been a lifeline in these early weeks. It is also really, really nice knowing that I get to meet up with my new parent’s group once a week, for four weeks. After that I thought it was just, let’s exchange details and we can hang out sometimes, catch up for coffees, meet up at kiddie places when they are big enough to play, sounds awesome. But then I realised it is encouraged that we continue to meet up once a week after the official bit is over. And I’m not sure how I feel about that. You do that once a week, you do yoga once a week, you meet up with those parents again somewhere else like a mums-and-babes movie session (I’m still refusing to use the word ‘bub’)… why does the appeal of this wear thin to me? It’s not that I don’t like the women in the new parent’s group, because I do, a lot, and I think I’ll make some good friends here. But I figured it out: I don’t really want new friends. Another slap on the wrist. What kind of idiot doesn’t want to make new friends? I mean, I value these women and their babies and their stories and experiences; their sympathetic ears and their awesome tips; their wins and their failures. But it feels somehow stressful to think I should want to be tied to them on a regular basis. Perhaps I have commitment issues.

Before you write me off completely, here’s the rub. The thing is, I miss my regular friends. Even before the babe came along, it was hard enough to find time to meet up and spend time with them all. Making new friends feels like less time that I am putting into those relationships, and besides, some of them have babies too, can’t I just talk to them? Of course I know it is possible to have my cake and eat it too (and don’t worry, there is a lot of cake-eating in my busy schedule), but I think I am feeling the first of my identity crises now that the immediacy of motherhood’s early weeks are passing and the wonder of Life 2.0 becomes the norm. What are you going to do? people ask, find work, or stay home with her, or what? and I shrug, and furrow my brow, and rack my brain for options that don’t involve us taking money out of savings every week just to pay the rent. And I meet up with those old friends, and I try to think of something to say that doesn’t involve Penny’s sleep patterns, or what a great burp she did this morning. And I can’t. I secretly dread becoming this person. I am proud of my girl, and there lies the value of the other new mums – a guilt-free open forum to discuss such things. Even when Husbandito gets home, all I want to do is tell him about her huge poop, or how long she fed for. As her father he is obviously more than happy to listen, but I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if my brain is turning to moosh. I feel a little stupider. It is totally worth it to spend time exchanging smiles with the girl and reading books to her that she doesn’t appear to be terribly interested in, and I wouldn’t trade her for the world, but is it so bad to also miss the person I used to be? Who am I, again? A mother, now, certainly. The best thing ever. But what else? I have forgotten.

Warning! Totally Bitchy Post Ahead

I just received the most laughable baby shower invitation. I know this post is going to sound incredibly malicious but honestly, infertile or not, I think I just vomited in my mouth a little bit. I mean for starters, there are not one, but two ridiculous poems! One in the body of the email, and then a separate one on the photoshopped invitation attachment (which by the way has pictures of half naked babies falling out of the sky). I would cry if I wasn’t so busy laughing. I’m sure – well, I think – humour was the sender’s intention, but unfortunately I am laughing ‘at’ and not ‘with’. Sorry.

On top of that it costs $50 to attend the baby shower, which I personally think is disgusting. You should not have to pay for a baby shower, no matter how much champagne there is, since of course we will be expected to bring gifts as well (this part is fine). The poems also mentioned games such as guessing the sex and weight of the baby so basically this is one of those occasions where my so-called condition – which will undoubtedly and embarrassingly make me burst into tears if I have to watch the mum-to-be unwrapping cute outfit after cute outfit – is the most perfectly valid excuse not to go. This is something that even two years ago, when I was still blissfully ignorant of my infertility, would have made me want to smash my own face against a wall. I hope my bridesmaids are smart enough to not throw me an event so vapid as to charge people to attend (I know they won’t).

The people I am close to who have had babies have had ‘showers’ that are really just outings to the park or the pub or at home, where men are more than cordially invited, and there are no stupid games (and this from somebody who loves games), and everybody celebrates the fact that you have managed to do this beautiful miraculous thing, which is grow a new human. It should absolutely be celebrated. Just, you know, with some sense of taste (or without, depending on how you look at things). I feel the same way about engagement parties – for sure, celebrate the fact that you’re in love, but is the massive party with speeches and elaborate gifts really necessary when the exact same group of people is just gonna do this whole thing again for your wedding in a few months? I mean, I agree with new parents being given gifts to help with the financial burden of getting set up for a new baby, the same way that newlyweds get gifts for their new house together, and that these things have significance from who is gifting them. I guess what I’m saying is, there are ways and means of doing these things.

Besides all that, it is on the same weekend as my birthday so damned if I’m going to spend it going goo-goo over booties. Sorry Katie. I have made you a blanket, though, filled with more love than something bought at Seed (which is not to bag Seed as they seem to have really nice stuff, but you know what I mean). I will drop it off the night before the shower, and give my apologies for not being in attendance for the real thing. But honestly, after just spending this whole post bitching about how stupid modern baby showers are, this is really not a bitter diatribe about what I don’t have. I just hate this kind of thing in general. It really is. Which totally makes it better, right?*

*I know the answer is “no it just makes you a bitch” and I am totally okay with that. So there.

What is this, exactly?

Sitting at the computer four days post-surgery is a lot less painful than even yesterday. I am grateful for even micromovements of progress. It’s a beautiful sunny day in the Inner West, even if at this stage I’m mostly taking advantage of it via the window. I gingerly hung out some washing today and the sun felt amazing.

I’ve never had this kind of attention before. It’s weird. I was a high achiever at school, I’m a performer; I’m used to being on show in some sense. This, however, is entirely different (obviously), and odd, and slightly confusing. I’ve never had any procedure more taxing than the removal of wisdom teeth, so being a patient is the first new thing for me. I’m trying to be comfortable with the idea of lying around without feeling incredibly guilty. The second is all the well wishes that my wonderful, wonderful friends are sending – texts, phone calls, messages. They don’t all know what is going on exactly, but there is certainly a surge of warmth from the people around me.

I’m getting used to telling people. I have a standard text that I am copying and pasting now. I still don’t feel comfortable being completely open with the information but we are lucky to have a good solid core group of reliable friends, and it feels right to share this with them. They are all respectful enough to not spread the news around anywhere that we don’t want it spread. Speaking on the phone through all the obligatory medical mumbo-jumbo is becoming less of a struggle and more of a free information session. It’s still upsetting and I’m yet to get through one of these phone calls without tears, but that’s okay.

Another strange thing is that infertility can be so common – one in six couples, apparently – and yet you never, ever hear about it until some D-grade celebrity sells their story to Woman’s Day a few years later. I mean, I get that. I really do. A part of me wants to shout about this, raise awareness as it were, let people know that it is okay and at the same time totally fucked up, start a discourse, not feel so isolated in an ocean of pregnancy announcements, baby bumps, and Facebook photographs of junior doing the latest super cute thing. But the other part, against all greater logic, still burns with a tiny shame that I am somehow broken, or with an idiotic sense of self-pity. Like even using the word ‘infertile’. That’s what I am. But it is confusing, because there is still a possibility of being able to conceive through IVF, which is kind of a big deal, but also it’s like, if I didn’t have endo and just had PCOS, do I still have as much claim to the word? Do I have as much claim to it right now as someone who can’t have IVF at all, or has been dealing with this longer than I have? OF COURSE! It’s just a fricking word! Every step, every condition, every part of this is painful to a couple who want to start a family but for whatever reason, just can’t, temporarily or long-term. But I feel like the general public don’t have a grip on this and therefore, neither do I. I have this stupid ill-informed notion of what people are going to think of me, and frankly, who even cares? These are facts. I should not be made to feel ashamed of them, especially when the only person making me feel like this right now is myself. Nobody else. Everybody else is being incredible and supportive and as understanding as they can be. There is no ‘correct reaction’, for me, for husbandito, for our family, for our friends. It is a strange thing, because it is like grieving, but for who, for what? People don’t know what to say or what to feel. We are all confused.

The final part is knowing that babies are always going to be there. It’s kind of important for the continuation of the species, etc. I don’t expect to hide away in a hole and put my fingers in my ear yelling ‘lalalala I’m not listening’ every time someone tells me they are expecting. That would suck. But coping mechanisms need to be put in place. For me, it is more about being in a place in my life where so many of our close friends are having children, and not wanting to be alienated from them or make them feel bad. I don’t want to feel like I can’t meet up with Bentley and have coffee in case she feels awkward about being pregnant in front of me, or making everyone feel like shit at band rehearsal as our keyboardist Katie grows noticeably larger every week and I’m there putting a big fat dampener on the party. Whether that is the case or not, we all have to accept these are the cards we are being dealt and I’m not going to be a total flake about this. I guess it comes down to me.

I realise this is all part of a process and this insanity will pass. Thanks for bearing with my weird rant.