At least according to the women on the singer’s board where I posted. Oh well. I tried.
It wasn’t all that bad. A few people understood. But I got a nice taste of the ignorance and cruelty surrounding infertility and in particular, egg donation. There was a small group that seemed to think that because I stated that I was tall, blonde/blue, kinda Norwegian looking (I’m part Dutch) with a lot of musical and creative talent and inclination, and that I used to have a dancer’s body to boot (I’m kinda pleasantly plump these days, and quite happy with it)… that I was an Orwellian witch, looking to find a victim with which to create my evilly-crafted, genetically-superior brood. To which I say: go read a fucking book. Even better, try some blogs.
And what’s up with people getting bent out of shape about me wanting to find someone who looks somewhat like me? As if I don’t have that right? As if I’m not supposed to want to pass the graces God gave me along? To that I say: double go fuck yourself.
The thing is, I’m actually not that hung up about it. All I really care about is that her looks seem to somehow translate into my family or his family, which could mean a brown-eyed blonde, a blue-eyed chestnut, or yes, god forbid… a tall, blonde, Norwegian looking woman. But it’s the assumptions people make that really floor me. As if I’m supposed to make a point of NOT choosing someone who looks like me because that might mean… what? I don’t really get what that should mean. Aren’t I supposed to be doing this to give myself the best chance at having what nature [or possibly time, in my case] has taken from me? Am I supposed to make a point to the world at large by the choice of donor I make? I don’t feel required to do that in the slightest. This is my choice, and I’ll make it as I best see fit, not because I’m supposed to be setting an example.
Do I want someone who looks like me? Shit, yeah. Am I hung up on it? Hell no. But for god’s sake, don’t go making assumptions about my choices. Especially if you’ve never met me and are responding on a freakin’ message board.
Then I read chez Pamela Jeanne about pregnant/infertility-free women who feel that they don’t have to be sensitive to other’s feelings.
The layers of dysfunction and craziness around all this is more than I can handle at times. I’d have quit quite a few years ago if the drive to be a parent and experience being a mother was not so strong.
In my own case, I know it is the greatest thing I will ever do. You see, I have a chain to break. Decades of dysfunction in my family that I have surmounted through hard work and therapy [and now, a retirement bank account that's smaller than it should be.]
When I met my husband, I knew I had a chance to break that chain for myself. It took a while, and every year we’re together is better than the year before, but it’s so clear to me now how perfect he is for me, and especially, how perfect he is as my partner down the road of life. And of course, before all of this, I so looked forward to breaking the chain completely with him. Raising a family in health, honest, love, kindness, support… all the things that a family ought to at least try to be. He has his own chain to break, and perhaps that’s why we found each other.
So bring on your ignorance, I guess. Most days, I am pleasantly shielded from it. I work from a home office and in some odd stroke of luck, the women in my gym have either had their kids or are way over having any more. I’ve seen the occasional belly, but not that many. And none of them seem to be very obnoxious about their bumps.
How come women are so cruel to each other, at times? Honestly, I prefer the company of men. Vicious, thy name is woman, when you want to be, anyway.
P.S. This post was a bit of rambling rant. My apologies, it’s late, I’ve had 2 glasses of wine in celebration of a project that went particularly well today. I needed this day to end better than it started.
Also: sometimes I swear. And infertility is a subject that can make me swear. You’ve been warned.
