Before we begin, let’s get a few things straight: We <motions to the vast, illusive blog-o-sphere> are strong, intelligent, educated women. We are not merely emotional beings whose undulating moods are predetermined by the waning and waxing of the moon; we are rational, clear thinking, logical women not easily swayed by myth and superstition. Got it? Got it!
And yet. And yet! When it comes to our fertility, we are completely, utterly, all-consumingly paralyzed by the power of elementary school reasoning – we are paralyzed by the power of jinx.
Jinx is why you don’t tell your family that you’re “trying.” Jinx is the reason you don’t tell your friends you’re pregnant until after your 12 week check up despite the fact that you are green in the face with nausea and have cancelled “going out for a drink” for three weeks running. Jinx is why you didn’t tell your husband your period was late
even if you were certain you were pregnant because you
were terrified of jinxing what, by that point, was already a medical reality.
Since deciding to write a blog about my own <I kind of want to say fertility journey, but it just sounds like a booth at the Lilith Fair > I have often been confronted with this phenomenon – don’t I worry that my reckless candor will forever ruin my chances of actually accomplishing the thing I have set out to do? That even if I do (somehow, some way) get pregnant, that by announcing it to
all you kind strangers on the internet, plus my mom the world, I’m essentially asking for
miscarriage and mayhem (in that order)?
The answer is, well, yes. Obviously. I never said I was above such madness. But I’m also struck by how bonkers ludicrous it is and, more than that, I’m
Since starting this little blog two short months ago, I have learned that several friends, and friends-of-friends have had their own (silent!) fertility battles – one working ovary, slow sperm, multiple miscarriages (in multiple women!), four years of trying everything from a gluten free diet to IVF, the struggles of same sex partners trying to conceive, just to name a few. (And yes, I have paused, many times, to consider how totally stoic and strong these badass friends are and to question why on god’s green earth must I feel the need to share Every. Last. Pelvic. Twinge. … ahem.)
Anyway. Prior to my own, aforementioned, reckless candor, I had no idea that anyone I knew was struggling with any of this. And yes, of course, there are many good reasons not to talk about any of this, to anyone, at any time/until it’s all reached it’s happy ending. It’s an emotional rollercoaster and the stress of other people’s incessant inquiries, worry, and sometimes cringe-worthy words of “advice” don’t always make it easier. Sometimes it is far easier – emotionally and otherwise– to keep the saga quiet (I never promised I’d be especially deep here.) So. I get it. I really do. After all, I’m still blogging quasi-in-disguise (but for the eye patch, I'd be instantly recognizable). But for better or worse – for jinx or for the opposite of jinx – I choose candor.