Posts in Art Is LIfe
The "less-than-perfect" birth story

Hello, again. 

Been a while since I've posted here but pregnancy took a lot out of me. Now our baby girl Miah is here and a month old. It took about that long to write my birth story as my hands have been kind of full! Originally the below story was for my prenatal yoga class. I wrote it honestly and realize now it does not sound as awe-inspiring and glorious as others that have been read out loud in my class. I say that slightly tongue-in-cheek, of course. No water birth. Or midwife. Medical intervention. No squatting to birth her. Epideral. It is not glowy or whimsical. It is just MY story. Raw and beautiful to me because it ends in the most important person in my world. I am sharing it here because what better art than life?

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When art is ugly: The reality of trying to conceive

Over at this blog, I spend a lot of time trying to convey how much art is life. It gives us life and our lives are full of instances that create art. All of the wonderful and the terrible things that can happen are art. 

I am personally going through the fight of my life and it’s not pretty or pleasant or wished on anyone. My husband David and I are trying to have a child. He has two great kiddos of his own whom I help raise.  We collectively made the decision to try to have another that is our child together. Both of his kids would like to have a brother or sister. 

I spent most of my young adult life not wanting to have a child. I didn’t desire it. I loved kids, actually. I just didn’t think it was for me and I always thought that you had to have a really good, non-selfish reason to have a child. I felt that way for over a decade. I had these conversations with people for a while and I always said that the answers seemed selfish. Don’t misunderstand; I don’t think selfishness is bad all the time. The want of a child is the most wonderful of “selfish” wants because, in the end, you really have to be pretty selfless to actually have one. That’s one reason why this is so painful. 

When I decided that I wanted to have a baby, I thought long about why. All of the answers felt selfish: Wanting to have a baby that had the traits and appearances of us both. Wanting to raise a baby whom we believed would be a spectacular human being, of course!  And wanting to have a child that, in all honestly, would grow, change and thrive in this little studio. My dreams are lofty, and maybe idealistic. I admit this! 

Regardless of all that, I’m 38. And with growth and helping raise two kids, I came to realize how much I waned my own — which says a lot of about them. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this. My husband wants a third child but I can’t help but get teary because he already has two of his own. In the end he will have those kids and if I can’t get pregnant, I will not have any of my own. I didn’t realize this was going to take so long or that it was going to be pretty much my own body that isn’t cooperating. I didn’t realize I was going to be someone who sought the help of a fertility clinic. 

I’ve been poked and prodded. Been through all kinds of tests. Vials and vials of blood drawn. Failed attempts. Tears. Procedures. Medications. I haven’t even gotten into the REAL thick of it, which is usually IVF, and it’s tremendously horrible — all of it. Every time you have yet another hope get dashed. Your prayers go unanswered. You rack up debt and you wonder if the Universe even wants this as much as you thought it did. You even hope they find something wrong with you because they never seem to find ANYTHING wrong so then you are left with more questions. People tell you to relax. Seriously? 

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