Clearly from the title of this mlog (and the fact that I’m naming it a mlog), we know that this is a space where I share stories about the joys of raising our son.  However, a lot of people ask me questions about our process.  Why couldn’t we have biological children?  Did we go through in vitro fertilization (IVF)?  How did we handle all of our family, friends and perfect strangers giving us terrible unsolicited ridiculous helpful advice?  Why did we choose to adopt?  So, from time to time, I will use this space to share our journey.

This post will address how I handled words of wisdom from those that are not barren.

I am Middle-Eastern.  Being brought up in an ethnic home means that there is always someone around you.  Watching you.  Analyzing you.  Judging you.

Have a secret?  Too bad, the family knows.  Having a bad day?  Too bad, it’s your seventh cousin’s eighth wedding and you better smile.  Want a second helping of (insert ethnic food here)?  No you don’t, your grandpa just told you your pants fit you thirty pounds ago.  Trying to procreate?  Don’t worry, you come from a long line of insanely fertile women…

Do I?

Well, I must be the terminus of said line.  Yes, the oven that cooks the buns does not properly function.

I share all of this so that you can properly grasp what it was like to be infertile in the land of breeders.  So that you understand how much advice I have actually received in our 12-year pilgrimage to parenthood.  I have heard everything.  Gems like: just relax, get a dog, lose weight, get acupuncture, drink some wine, dress in saran wrap, adopt a child, give up, find a surrogate and take Robitussin.  (Yes, people actually said that stuff to me…)

Initially, it was agonizing and uncomfortable to hear these “well informed” suggestions, but I realized that all of the people that told me their completely useless stories just wanted me to be happy.

So, for those of you reading this and suffering, really suffering, with the drudgery of daily life knowing you want so desperately to be a mother (or father) and cannot, just remember that the people in your life are well intentioned.  They love and support you.  It is just that most of them are blissfuly ignorant to your misery.  In fact, when someone says something unwittingly unkind to me (still!) about producing a spawn, I half smile and reply:  thank you for the advice.

Yes, my response to the indiscreet and ill-advised guidance from others may seem kind, but the reason for it, at least for me, helped a lot.  You see, usually, when you tell someone you appreciate them, they are so overwhelmed with good feelings that they stop talking or move on to another subject.  Either way, they take a break from asking you about your lady parts.

#longpost  #moreontheadvicepartlater  #seriouslysomeonetoldmetotakerobitussin  #itsforcoughingandprocreation


4 thoughts on “Culture

  1. It’s been almost 11 years since Zachary was born, and two subsequent adoptions, and I still have family that are convinced that we will get pregnant any day now – because a friend’s daughter’s sister-in-law’s stylist got pregnant after she adopted.


  2. Are you supposed to take the Robitussin while wearing Saran wrap? Why not drink a bottle of wine while wearing Saran wrap? Makes more sense to me. 🙂
    Still trying to wrap my head around this one. Because someday your son might read these post we will just leave it at that….


  3. However long it took when I look at you and Jim I see two of the most caring, loving people in the whole wide world. I personally think Jacob was worth every heartache and struggle because he has the world best parents and God knew what he was doing when he gave him to you


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