That Post Where I Vow to Write More Often (But Really Mean It This Time)

There is one truth about me that I cannot deny.

I am a writer.

I write hundreds of blog posts and diary entries on a regular basis. Most of the time I write these on my way to work, walking around my neighborhood or while driving. Unfortunately, these writings only exist in my imagination, never actually making it to paper or the digital screen.

I’ve got a list of reasons why this happens.

The number one being that A BABY CHANGES YOUR LIFE!

Remember when all those well-meaning fertiles would tell you that after you have a baby you’ll never sleep again? Well, they were right.

How about that one where they said that the high point of your day might be taking a shower?

Also true!

So yeah, between spending time with my angel and continuing to learn how to be the best mom I can be and working full-time, blogging has taken a back seat. A back seat in another universe to put it mildly. There simply aren’t enough hours in a day so I don’t even try. At least that’s what I tell myself every time I think about starting a blog post.

But the truth is I think I’ve lost my voice.Writing voice that is.

Maybe it’s because I’m out of practice. After all, if you don’t practice a skill, you lose it. Unless you’re Batman or something.

Actually, I think I am having a blogging identity crisis and have had it for a very long time.

Consider this (it might be true for you too): the bulk of my previous posts come from the darkest place in my life. Within that place is a different mindset, tone, and yes, a different person. Though the pain of infertility never goes away and the bad memories still overtake me if I let them, my perspective has changed greatly. And with a change in perspective, comes a change in voice.

So, what does my “new” voice sound like?

I don’t know.

I know I need to discover that voice through blogging, but I hesitate because there are still those in the trenches. Though I do not know their specific pain, I know what it feels like to be trapped in what feels like a never-ending sea of unhappiness and worry.

If I were to blog about infertility, but more about all things motherhood: love, laughs, diapers, breastfeeding, sleep (or lack theoreof) would I be betraying those still left behind? Would I be betraying myself?

Once again, the answer is I don’t know.

But I owe it to myself to find out.

Get ready because I might just be back. As soon as I get the baby to sleep.

Thoughts on ICLW

I just participated in and completed my first ICLW.  I had seen the badges all over  blogs and finally decided to sign-up to see what all the fuss was about.  Plus, I got my own rocking badge, so it was worth it.   At first it was a little difficult to comment on at least five different blogs, not because I didn’t want to, but because the task seemed overwhelming, particularly after a day of working.  The reply task seemed easy enough though, if I had comments to reply to.

I ended up leaving comments on blogs that I was familiar with, not necessarily on the list, and quite a few that were on the list.  Here are a few things I took away from the experience:

1)  Blogspot sure does have a lot of technical issues (maybe the site should be renamed NotBlogspot or Non-Blogger),

2) Quite a few of you are now prepping for the grandaddy of all fertility treatments, the IVF.

3) Many of you are able to stay optimistic despite the lemons infertility has handed you.  (You guys are an inspiration for all of us).

4) A lot of you have found the ability to express the feelings of  loss so beautifully and poetically, you could have a career in writing.

and finally. . .

5) We all have hope.

I met many new women during this experience.  Some who had been TTCing for quite a while, some visiting the RE for the first time, and others who had loved and lost.  Even through the tears and agitation and “funks”, I could read between the lines to discover that these women still have hope. 

It’s been posted on various blogs, but here is the poem by Emily Dickinson, once again:

Hope is the Thing With Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Whether you are into poetry or not, these words will move you.  How many of us have had hope in our hearts?  Sometimes, that hope might be more obvious, bursting in our souls, but most of the time I believe it is silent, but significant.  I believe it’s the glimmer of hope that propels us forward.  Our circumstances might seem dire, but hope has the ability to protect us from an uncertain world, without demanding something in return.

Just as the cranberry thread or bracelet is the unofficial official symbol of infertility, I think this should be the unofficial official poem of infertility.  It is short, sensational, and universal. 

Hope is what I took away from my first ICLW experience.  If you guys have hope, maybe I should too.  Thank you!