Letting Go of Our Babymakin’ Fantasies

Sorry to be such a downer recently, but I walked away from this blog for over a week and now that I’m back, I’m returning to it for the very reasons I started it in the first place: it’s a place of catharsis for me.

I’m struggling with the holidays this year. Part of it comes from the influx of pregnancy and birth related things happening in my life: people I know, bloggers I follow… after nearly 3 years of blogging, I’m one of the few left in my original reader of blogs that I follow who still hasn’t resolved in some way. It’s frustrating. On one hand, I’m thrilled for them, as we all are for each other when we find success in some way.

And we all know how it feels “keeping up with your blogging Joneses” as well: that tinge of jealousy and self-pity.

It’s amazing how both jealousy and support are the finials of the same balancing pole as we tread lightly the high-wire path of infertility.

. . .

Part of my coping issue right now is the fact that Larry’s turning 30 later this month. Which means in just six months, I’ll be turning 30. And even though I’m married and have a house, I was certainly not expecting to be childless by 30. In fact, I wanted to be one and done by the time I turned 30.

As we turn the calendar now for a third set of holidays sans children, I realize I still haven’t let go of so many fantasies I had about becoming pregnant and starting a family.

But let’s talk about fantasy for a minute.

"Can you imagine what I would do if I could do all I can?" - Sun Tzu (Photo by Keiko Zoll.)

. . .

For whatever reason, I feel like fantasy is a loaded term, implying some kind of sexual satisfaction. But let’s face it, we fantasize all the time: a fantasy is like a detailed daydream of the way we imagine our lives could be. I’m sure many of us fantasized what our wedding day would be like. I know I did: barefoot on the beach as the sun set in the middle of the summer.

In reality? We got married in the dead of winter in a formal, black-tie affair. I wasn’t wearing some flow-y thing either: I had a bustle, a crinoline, and layers of silk taffeta (and I looked friggin’ incredible). I still talk about how awesome my wedding was. Guests of our wedding still talk about how awesome it was. And yet while the fantasy and reality were two very different things, I didn’t weep for the lost fantasy.

But infertility is a little different – it’s filled with so much loss. It’s not just a change of plans. Infertility is the death of fantasies that may have been intrinsically core and central to our self-identities.

. . .

The holidays remind me of one of those fantasies and on Facebook, it’s be pregnancy-announcement-tastic. Apparently everyone had a lot of sex during the month of October because these announcements are happening in droves in my social networks.

I’ve always fantasized about how we would tell our parents we were pregnant. In this perfect fantastical world, we’d time everything perfectly so we could do the big reveal over the winter holidays. I always wanted to have both sets of parents open gifts that said “World’s Best Grandparent” and make the big reveal that way.

It’s not terribly original, but it’s my fantasy.

And then there’s one I always kept extremely close to my heart, one that I only told Larry for the first time in 15 years just last week when I mentioned I was going to write this post.

I always wanted to tell his parents – not mine – at the Passover seder table. Passover is a very special holiday for me: it’s one of the first I celebrate with Larry and his family, and it’s filled with such deep tradition and meaning that it’s one of my favorite holidays of the year, Jewish or otherwise. I have long admired Larry’s younger sister Rachel and how she would sing the Four Questions (typically said by the youngest at the table).

In recent years, I’ve had the privilege of doing the Four Questions because I’m technically the youngest Jew at the table (I converted in 2007). Plus, it’s a chance for me to ham it up and sing, something I don’t do nearly enough of.

And now, my super-secret pregnancy reveal fantasy:

Steve, my father-in-law and leader of the Passover seder, would turn to me and say, “Keiko, would you like to read the Four Questions?”

I would reply, trying to stifle a wide smile, “I would love to, but technically I’ll be doing them in proxy since the youngest Jew at the table won’t be able to do them for at least another 9 months.”

To which we’d respond to the puzzled looks around the table and announce that yes, we were pregnant.

(For the record, I am totally that person who who hijack a thousands-year old ritual dinner element to tell everyone she’s knocked up. Remember that bit about me being a ham?)

. . .

That’s my dorky fantasy. There are others: how I’d tell my sister. How I’d tell my close girlfriends. How I’d even reveal to Larry. There’s the fantasy of how we’d even MAKE a baby in the first place: a night of passionate lovemaking while musing on baby names in the afterglow.

But… they’ve changed. A lot. There’s no surprise element when I blog publicly about my personal journey. As of right now, I plan to blog about every step of the way. That might change. But for now, that’s the plan.

And Larry and I maintain the kind of relationship with both sets of families that they’ll be in the loop every step of the way as well. When we go for a beta, they’ll know only shortly after we do, because they’ll have been following along because we’ll have shared it all with them anyway.

. . .

For as much progress as I’ve made, the path to coping and healing is not linear. You might circle back on feelings you thought you’d resolved. That’s where I’m at right now, a back-pedaling relapse of coping skills. I accept that I’m infertile. I wrote a letter about six months after my diagnosis, to my genetic child. That too, is a fantasy.

I did it to let that fantasy go.

But I’m not sure how to let these remaining fantasies go.

I’m not even sure if I’m actually ready to let them go at all, to be perfectly honest.

They’re so much a part of my heart. I just don’t want to leave a piece of my heart behind somewhere. But infertility has already done that to me already, hasn’t it? Done that to all of us? Taken away a little bit of who we are?

So maybe that’s why I’m not ready to let these fantasies go… because I don’t want to lose anything else. I cling to tightly to The Way I Want Things to Be instead of embracing The Way It’s Going to Be.

What I need to do is start imagining a new fantasy for myself. It’s just so much harder to do when you’ve lived your whole life imagining one scenario. So I cling to what I know, even if it hurts to hold onto those fantasies knowing full well they’ll never be realized.

I just don’t know what else to do right now in this moment.

EDIT to add (12/8/11): The support and love you have all left for me in the comments has been overwhelming and beautiful. I want to respond to each of you; I’m at a conference today, but I will get back each of you. This has meant so much to me.

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Comments

  1. Marci says

    I totally get it. Sometimes its infuriating that you can see it all so clearly…everything but how to turn that fantasy into reality.

  2. Aimee says

    I think I understand about letting go. I feel like I’m split in two – one person knows that things will not be the way I want them to be, the other person can’t stop hoping that somehow they will work out.

    I was actually able to fulfill my fantasy of telling my husband that I was pregnant – in one of our favorite movies, when the actor finds out his girlfriend is pregnant, he’s so excited he gives the first person he sees a box of candy and eleven dollars. I was able to do that, and two weeks later I miscarried. Sometimes I’m happy I was able to have that much, and sometimes I am furious that it happened that way.

    • Keiko says

      Aimee, thank you for sharing your story. I’m so sorry for your loss. I was really drawn to ” the other person can’t stop hoping that somehow they will work out.”

      But that’s hope, right? That’s how it goes? Thanks for commenting.

  3. Betsy says

    I’m still here, not pregnant in the blogging world… plugging away at getting to that fantasy – and I’ve definitely fantasized about every possible scenario with each new procedure and possibility. It won’t last forever, b/c you will either get that baby or you will accept your wonder life just the way it is. Hang in there.

    • Keiko says

      Thanks for the encouragement, Betsy. Glad to know there are still plenty of us in the trenches. I mean, not glad that we are, but… ugh. This isn’t coming out right at all. Sorry we share this in common, glad to know there are still a lot of us out there to support one another. Thanks for commenting.

  4. Abby says

    I can relate. More than I want to admit. My husband and I found out the struggles that we would have to concieve in 2006. It’s been almost 6 years and somedays I can see my life without children in it, and I’m happy. Then there are other days that I look towards adoption. I can imagine this perfect child coming into our lives. I even go so far to imagine what this baby looks like. And then there are days, that I realize I’m not ready to give up on a biological child. I want to look at our child and know she/he has my cheekbones and my husbands eyes. I want to see my grandfather’s humor in our child. And then it’s like we found out yesterday the road ahead of us. It’s like we are going through it all over again. Simply because of these fantasies, that have been such a part of my life since I was a little girl. I dreamed about the days that I would get pregnant and feel those flutters of life. I dreamed about the beautiful little girl that would have my curly hair and cheekbones. Yet here I am, 32 and little to no hope of ever having a child of my own. Today it’s devastating, tomorrow, well it will have to take care of itself, but tomorrow might be ok.

    • Keiko says

      “I dreamed about the beautiful little girl that would have my curly hair and cheekbones.”

      I will never, ever lose that image in my mind of my own genetic child. Never ever.

      “Today it’s devastating, tomorrow, well it will have to take care of itself, but tomorrow might be ok.”

      The cruel cycle of infertility. Thanks for commenting and the encouragement, and for sharing your story and fantasy, too.

  5. Sian says

    My husband turns 40 in 6 months time. After 8 years we have given up on any natural pregnancy. I really do hope that IVF will work for us though.

    I don’t think we ever resolves the feelings we just put them to sleep and they rear there ugly heads from tme to time. It is tough but so are we x

    • Keiko says

      Sian, thanks for commenting. I really hope IVF works for you too! We ARE tough. Thanks for the encouragement!

  6. Journeywoman says

    We turned 40 this year and have pretty much put to bed any thought of natural pregnancy. As we inch closer to our adopted child I get the fantasy of having an “oops” pg.

    Thinking wonderful thoughts for you.

    • dspence says

      Journeywoman, I wanted to let you know how good it is to hear your voice. I never did comment much, but I have missed your posts. I am glad to hear that adoption is continuing to move forward.

  7. Chickenpig says

    I don’t see why you need to let those fantasies go because you struggle with infertility. Just don’t tell people until you’re ready. You do have some power over this process, and when and who you tell is one of them. I have never told anyone in my close family when I was ttc. Trying to hold onto hope for the two of us was hard enough without the weight of everyone else. Yes, we didn’t have family support during the toughest parts, but we also didn’t have to put on a brave face for anyone when we were falling apart. And when we had good news to share? We were the same as every other fertile couple.

    I laughed when you said everyone ‘must have been having a lot of sex in October’. Our retrieval was on October 28, but there was no sex involved. And we still haven’t told a soul outside of the blogosphere.

    • Keiko says

      It’s a weird line I struggle with, because part of why I write is to share my story publicly. There’s power in authentic storytelling. But you’re right – I do have a measure of control. Thanks for the comment, the encouragement, and the food for thought.

  8. Still hoping says

    Keiko you always lay out your thoughts so beautifully and honestly. We are pursuing ivf #2 but a lot of days it still hurts that this is where life has led us to. Things just seem to happen “so perfectly” for everyone else. They lan when they want their babies to come and it actually works out that way. For the rest of us, our babies arrival dates will depend on if/when we all save up the money to pursue medical help. There’s sadness in that. There’s a grieving process involved. And like you said, just when we think we’ve conquered some of those emotions they rear their ugly head once again. So sorry you’re going through this, hoping that somehow you find a little reprieve.

    • Keiko says

      Thank you so much for your comment and good luck with this next cycle. The support I’ve been getting from this post has meant so much – it’s really lifted me up like whoa.

  9. Jonelle says

    I don’t mind your recent posts. I actually feel like I’m getting to know you more.

    I don’t think those kinds of fantasies ever go away – even with 11 months of grief counseling. There is always the hope, that somehow something miraculous will happen. I know that is where I am. Even putting ttc behind me, and pursing adoption, I still fantasize about getting pregnant and how I would tell our families.

    But, then the reality of my situation bulldozes through the fantasy, reminding me that I have one tube, and ovaries that produce cysts and not eggs, and in the 8 years that we have lived with IF, that I’ve never been able to get pregnant naturally.

    I know that God can do anything. I really believe He can make it so I can get pregnant one day. I just don’t know if He will.

    You have put into words so beautifully what I have been struggling with for the past few months. THank you. You understand, and I don’t feel so alone.

    • Keiko says

      Jonelle, thank you so much for your comment. I love how you speak to your faith. I go in phases how I feel about my faith as it relates to infertility, and vice versa.

      Sometimes I struggle with sounding like a Debbie Downer, but let’s face it – infertility IS a downer. Thanks for the validation for me to keep it real.

  10. Hope says

    I feel a lot the same about my old fantasies. The thing is, for me, *some* of them *might* still be possible. But I can’t let myself think about *any* of them for fear of getting disappointed. I don’t think I’ve let them go, just pushed them to the back of my mind and the bottome of my sub conscious.

    And I’m as much of a ham as you are. I love your seder both reveal fantasy. I’d totally have at least thought about doing something like that before I got sucked down the IF rabbit hole.

  11. Esperanza says

    I don’t think you can ever really let go until something else has taken that fantasy’s place. Even then it’s hard, but before then I think it’s probably impossible. That is one of the reasons it’s so important for IF suffers to eventually resolve their IF, however that happens for them, because you can’t let go of any of those dreams or fantasies until they’ve done so. When you’re still in the throes of it, when you can still hope because you story hasn’t been written definitively yet, you can’t let them go. I think you’ll always circle back to those dreams, even after a different story has been written. But when there is no definite story yet, you circle back way more frequently.

    I remember realizing after my ectopic pregnancy that I would never have a baby before I turned 30. I don’t think I’d realized what a huge part of my identity my “young mother” fantasy was until I realized it was unattainable. It’s funny because I should have realized when I was 25 and still hadn’t met anyone yet that I probably wasn’t going to realize that dream, and then when I was with someone who thought maybe he never wanted kids when we were 28, I should have been sure that dream had died. I mean, it was dead already, wasn’t it? And yet I kept a hold of it, deep in my heart, without realizing and it wasn’t until my loss, when I was 29, that I realized it was all over for me. It was hard, really hard.

    I’m one of the lucky ones, I’ve been given a version of my dream that isn’t so far from what I hoped it would be (at least I’m on the way to it and there’s reason to believe I can achieve some part of it). But even I had to let go of dreams and it was so hard. When you have to let go of so many of them, it can feel impossible.

    • Keiko says

      Thank you so much for your comment, Esperanza. Especially as you outline the “kids by 30″ part – that’s where I’m really struggling. What’s weird is that this fantasy only began when I got married. If you’d have asked me 10 years ago, at 19? I’d have been like, “Phht! Fat chance. Kids?! HA!”

      It’s a fine line of hope and fantasy. Some days are better than others. Thank you so much for your support.

  12. Sara says

    I hear you. My situation is different (I have a child via IVF and am now struggling with infertility again on the road to #2), but I can completely relate to the feelings that you are expressing. It is SO hard to give up on a dream, even when it’s clear that it’s not going to come true. We have now decided to move to DE, but there was a long grieving process before I was able to get excited about the new dreams that idea created. I still relapse sometimes. Sigh.

    I really hope that some form of your dream comes true soon.

    • Keiko says

      Sara, thank you so much for your comment and support. Wishing you much luck as you pursue your own dream of #2!

  13. Silver says

    Like you, I expected to have married and had my family by the time I was 30. At 30, I wasn’t even in a stable relationship. At 40, I was married but had been trying to become a parent for 6 years and had experienced 6 pregnancy losses. This Christmas, I am nearly 43 and I will finally be celebrating Christmas as a mother. None of the process was how it was meant to be in my fantasies: my husband and I weren’t even in the same city at the time of conception, never mind the same bed; we both sat and watched the pregnancy test in fear and weren’t overjoyed when it came up positive, but just in disbelief and more fear as we knew a positive test didn’t mean a baby; we told out parents be phone straight away in case we needed their support when it all went wrong. But, do you know what, none of it matters now, because the important bit is the longer road. For us, it’s being parents. If that hadn’t worked, we had come to a place of relative peace and we were going to be the best aunt and uncle on the planet, travel to places we wanted to see and cherish each other in a way that couples who are parents don’t have time or energy to do (oh how true that one turned out to be!). It IS hard to let go of the fantasies, but it can be liberating in some ways too – a way of discovering aspects of yourself you would never have known if your life had gone the way you expected it to. I guess what I’m trying to say is that maybe it’s not the old expectations or a set of new ones you need, but to let go of expectations altogether and just go along for the ride for a while – see where it takes you. Not that I’m saying for two seconds that that’s the easy option!

  14. Courtney says

    Wow. This post was incredible, Keiko. You pointed out something about myself that I hadn’t yet realized. I’m definitely having a hard time letting go of these fantasies. Part of why I’ve never told my grandmother is so that I can still have that fantasy with one person in my life (she’s the only one that doesn’t know…and that sounds horrible now that I’ve typed it out.) But it’s all because I wanted just one person in my life to be 100% happy for my pregnancy, with nothing else involved. I’ve been planning on telling her about my losses these last few weeks, but I just can’t pick up the phone…and it’s because my last fantasy will be gone.

    • Keiko says

      “But it’s all because I wanted just one person in my life to be 100% happy for my pregnancy, with nothing else involved. ”

      I can totally respect that. It’s amazing when you have these realizations, right? Thank you so much for your support and commenting, Courtney. With a week removed and feeling a bit more inspired since this post- pick up that phone. Tell your grandmother. Ask for her support. I find it hard to believe she wouldn’t support you. You might lose a fantasy in the process, but you gain the support from someone you love instead.

  15. Justine says

    I’m not sure that fantasies ever go away … not even when you’ve achieved your dream, if you’ve gotten there a different way than you thought you would. And I also think that disconnect between what you wanted and what you have always hurts.

    This is going to sound ridiculous, because I have two beautiful children, but when I see people getting pregnant easily, and acting blase about it, I still get so angry, and strangely jealous. Because I wanted that to be me. I feel gypped that I will have to live with loss my whole life.

    I wonder … rather than creating a new fantasy … is it easier to push the fantasy aside and pay more attention to a tangible, executable plan? (Not a suggestion, but a real question …)

    • Keiko says

      “I wonder … rather than creating a new fantasy … is it easier to push the fantasy aside and pay more attention to a tangible, executable plan?”

      Justine, you win the prize. That’s pretty much exactly what I learned at the conference I went to last week. Now that I’m a couple of weeks removed from this post and feeling more inspired, you’re exactly right. It’s about declaring “this is what I want and this is what I’m willing to do to get it” instead of wallowing in “this is the way it should have been.”

      Living fearlessly. Being empowered. But it’s okay to be nostalgic every now and then too.

  16. Jjiraffe says

    I really missed your beautiful voice while you were gone. And this post made me ache. I’m so sorry to hear you have been hurting…

    Ah, the baby fantasies. Yours are so thoughtful and planned to delight and surprise your loved ones. Infertility robs us of a way to please people, and that’s another blow too.

    When my brother was born, some fancy friend of my parents sent him a Tiffany rattle. It was the most frivolous yet joyful thing. It quickly tarnished then disappeared altogether but in my fantasies, I imagined handing my husband a rectangular box in robin-egg blue, him opening it and me saying “Surprise, darling!” In my fantasies I also had a mid-Atlantic accent and was fabulously wealthy, somehow.

    So when one of Darcy’s posh relatives sent the twins silver spoons from Tiffany when they were born, I wept. I used those spoons every day until they were too small. And I finally realize now why I loved them: they represented the death of my fantasy but the rebirth of a new one. They were Phoenix spoons.

    I really hope that you get a way to experience your fantasies in some way. They are beautiful.

    • Keiko says

      Reading your comment for a third time now, I still tear up. Thank you so much for sharing the story about your Phoenix spoons (gah! there I go again. *grabs a tissue*).

      I missed the blogging world too while I was gone, but I needed to step away from the announcements and, I hate to say it – the joys that everyone else seemed to be having but me. I’m in a better place now and it truly is from the support and love I’ve gotten from this post. It’s meant so much to me and has helped me keep my chin up and soldier on.

  17. Heather says

    Oh Keiko. I have kept this tab open, thinking about what to say, and I still don’t really have an answer.
    I really do love your fantasies about telling your family at the seder table and how you would tell important people in your life. In whatever shape or form a child will come to you, you can still get to live out these fantasies, in one way or another. Yes, the dreams we have do not always turn out exactly the way that we planned, but that is what makes our lives so special and unique.
    I wish I could share this special gift I’ve been given with you. But I do have faith that your time will come. In God’s timing, not ours.

    • Keiko says

      Heather, thank you so much for your comment. I hope you don’t think I’m like, “bah, another pg IF blogger” – I am of course over-joyed for you! And I saw your post about Survivor’s Guilt. It’s such a fine line to walk and weirdly, I can’t wait to figure that out for myself when I get all kinds of knocked up one day :)

      I know my time will come too.

  18. Gail says

    While I am soooooo sorry that you are going through this. I am also grateful that have the courage to write about it because it justifies my feelings and hopes and dreams. I, too, wanted to be able to tell my family about being pregnant over the holidays and imagined them opening t-shirts with “Grandmother-to-be” and the due date written on them to be the way we told them. But, it is not to be and, sometimes, that just hurts so much. While I hate that anyone else has to feel this same pain, I am thankful for the ALI community. You all get it in ways that no one else does.

    • Keiko says

      Gail, thank you for your comment and support. It sucks that we have to find each other through something like this, but the ALI community is amazing like that. The support, the love, the strength… it’s meant to much to me and the outpouring of support over this post has really kept me going since I wrote it.

  19. iamvulnerable says

    This post made me weepy, and then the comments! Wow. I echo what a few others have said – that we grieve the loss of our fantasies, but there will be new ones that will come to take their place. That has been the way for me, though I recognize that I’m fortunate enough to have resolved IF by having my son. Much of this path didn’t go the way I had hoped, but there is a kind of beauty that has come with making peace with the path I’ve had to walk rather than the one I had planned. May it be the same for you, and may you find joy, bliss, and blessings beyond measure in the years ahead and in the new dreams that will come to you.

    • Keiko says

      Thank you so much for your comment and beautiful words.

      “May it be the same for you, and may you find joy, bliss, and blessings beyond measure in the years ahead and in the new dreams that will come to you.”

      I almost can’t even put into words how much that wish means to me. Thank you.

  20. Whitney Anderson says

    Keiko,

    I feel your pain. I am there, too. After 6 years, I can assure you that I only know a couple people who have not resolved. That can wear you down and be very disheartening. So, I decided a couple of months ago to try to take a step back. I think it’s been helpful.

    I, too, am having trouble letting go of my fantasy and Erick turned 40 this year, while I am 34. 40!

    While we are feeling good about pursuing adoption, it is not my first choice and I am still dealing with my infertility and grief over our 5 lost babies. Sometimes the grief is paralyzing for me.

    I am sorry for you and thinking of you.

    • Keiko says

      Whitney, thank you so much for your kind words and support. It really means a lot. I know it can be hard to know that adoption feels like the 2nd choice – I’m still very excited for the both of you and wish you all the joy and (speedily moving forward in the whole process) success as you pursue adoption.

  21. Katie says

    I can relate a lot to the whole fantasy thing. This has been a 4-year roller-coaster for us thus far. We are adopting and will (God-willing) bring home our daughter next month, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve let go of all of the other fantasies. We never made some big announcement, or excitedly told our parents “we’re adopting!” With it being such an invasive process and having been so open about all of our IF treatments prior, we relied heavily on their support from the beginning. Which has been awesome, but at the same time, accepting the “I might never”s is extremely difficult. “I might never” carry a child, have a child with my eyes, get to pick out my child’s full name, etc. Most of the time I am really “okay” with this. And then I see others live out their fantasies, and it crushes me. “My mom still talks about “when” we get pregnant. And then that upsets me even more. Like the thought of having to process going through that which I have just let go is a stab through my heart. I wish you the best this holiday season, and pray you would find peace :)

    • Keiko says

      Katie, thank you for your comment and sharing your story.

      “My mom still talks about “when” we get pregnant. And then that upsets me even more. Like the thought of having to process going through that which I have just let go is a stab through my heart.”

      That’s rough. I don’t know if you have the kind of relationship with your mom where you can say, “Mom, it’s just not going to happen. I’ve let go – how can I help you let go, too?” but it might help.

      Thank you for the well-wishes, the kind words, and the support. It’s meant mountains to me to see the love on this post!

  22. missohkay says

    This is a wonderful post, Keiko. I didn’t have any plans or expectations for pregnancy or the timeline of my life. But I certainly never expected that I would meet my first child at an airport, as I will be doing. I agree with Esperanza that your fantasies can be replaced with other fantasies. Mine have – mostly – but there’s still mourning in the background for the girl I used to be, and it ebbs and flows. Thanks for creating such a beautiful explanation of what so many of us feel.

    • Keiko says

      MissOkay, thank you for the kind words and support. Every day is a new day (lame, trite – yes, but so true) and it’s matter of taking infertility a day at a time.

  23. Rebecca says

    Letting go of the fantasy, for me won’t happen until I’m dead. Even while my spouse was deployed, and us obviously not having sex or making a baby with IVF, I’d dream of how a miracle would be. Yes I know dream on. Now I dream of telling my REI staff in a fantasy that I don’t need them because I was able to conceive on my own. Again dream on. That dreamed died the last day of last month when I again miscarried from a natural cycle.

    But I do dream of telling my spouse over the holidays. I’d gift him a pair of booties. I’d have framed ultrasound photos for the grandparents to be.

    I can dream right?

    • Keiko says

      Damn straight you can dream. I’m so sorry for your recent loss, Rebecca. Thank you for commenting here and offering your support. Our dreams are important, but as I said to Justine up-thread, maybe it’s easier if we can make a plan to realize those dreams. Thinking of you Rebecca, and sending you light and love.

  24. Jessie says

    I very definitely understand the difficulty with the loss of fantasy. I fantasized about telling parents at Thanksgiving, and then at Christmas. And then at the next Thanksgiving and the next Christmas. Like you, I’m open on my blog and our families will thus know right away. But I still haven’t thrown away the Grandparents’ Day cards I bought for all 4 sets of parents as an announcement.

    • Keiko says

      *hug* Jessie, thank you so much for your comment and your support. There’s no reason to throw out those cards. We’ll get there.

  25. dspence says

    I failed to comment last week, but wanted to let you know that your writing touched me. Thank you for sharing and I am thinking of you this holiday season.

    • Keiko says

      Thank you so much for your comment – I’m finally getting back to all the comments now that I have a free moment! Thank you for thinking of me; the support has meant so much, more than I can really ever express in my replies to the comments here. A wonderful holiday season to you as well!

  26. Sara Lynn says

    Thanks for sharing. I think the hardest part of infertility for me is the unmet expectations and the losing of hope. It’s good to know I’m not alone

    • Keiko says

      It’s hard to be alone in a crowd of 7.3 million. Thank you for commenting, Sara Lynn. We’ll get there.

  27. claire says

    So well put. I found your blog through Mel and stirup queen… and then this post took my breath away.

    I think I will hold that imagine of the beach wedding vs the formal affair. I never imagined I’d be writing to strangers about how their words touched me so deeply. I thought I’d have kids too by this age. We all have all sorts of fantasies about where we grow up to.

    Thank you for trusting all us strangers with one of your fantasies. I too hold on to my fantasies — even if I never try them out — I have ideas of how I would like to parent and share news and the rest. It hurts, but it is what it is. Best wishes this winter season….

  28. Renee Dale says

    Keiko, I stumbled onto your blog by accident. I don’t know what I clicked to get there but I’m glad I did.

    I’m 53. I finally gave up the fantasy 13 years ago. Hysterectomy. That is when the fantasy dies.

    Christmas, Mother’s Day and Birthday are three trigers that will bring the greif back to the surface. The greif of a child that I never had.

    It’s good that you have this blog spot to vent. I didn’t have an outlet. No one understood. Everyone had children. When I tried to explain how I felt they looked at me like I had two heads. Even now no one understands why I have “bad” days.

  29. YeeYee says

    Keiko,
    Please keep writing! You are truly an inspiration & your words touch so many of us. I was just introduced to your site but wish I would have found it earlier. I feel the same about the holidays lately & cringe every time I get a Christmas card in the mail – just a constant reminder of all the “happy families” & what’s missing in our lives right now. Keep fantasizing – sometimes fantasies & dreams need to be there to give us that little dose of positive we need during these very trying times.