The Baby Factory is Closed. Part Deux. It’s all about the socks.

by statia on January 14, 2010

So it’s been pretty much established that after years of infertility, and heartache and loss, we are done having kids.  When you are pregnant and uncomfortable, you are SO OK with this.  You are more than happy to relinquish your uterus to anyone who wants it.  Or just putting it out with the curb on trash day.  Or punting it into the nearest body of water.  Take your pick.

But I knew deep down, that on some level, it would come back to bother me.  And it has.  No longer am I jealous of pregnant women because I never had the opportunity.  No, I am now forever jealous of pregnant women, because I will never have that opportunity again.   Now let me just say that there is no way I can mentally handle another.  I never wanted three children, ever.  Being the middle child, I have deep seeded issues about three children.  Like, it’s a curse to be the middle child and my dear sweet diva of a daughter, who is so much like me, it’s ridiculous, well, I couldn’t do that to her.   I would rather her remain the baby of the family and let her be her little princess self (and before you think I’m playing favorites, let me tell you that both of them are treated equally.  I baby both of them as much as I can, and probably will forever.  I mean, I’m not going to climb up into their windows in my old age, when they’re adults and rock them or anything psycho like that (because please, doesn’t anyone else see that’s just a tad bit crazy?).   But there’s that finality that comes with being done.  Poof.  That’s it.  No more.  That’s a hard pill to swallow.   And let’s face it.  I hit that age this year.  You know the doomed age in fertility years.  The one that all of us infertile bitches have tried to sell their soul to the Devil to buy extra time from.   35 (and yes, I realize that my age is not updated in the sidebar).

Perhaps this is just hitting me so hard because of the whole infertility gig.  Maybe had I gotten pregnant a little earlier, I could have had more.   But I look at those sweet newborns sleeping on their mother’s chest and I look at my daughter like, “When are you going to give me grandbabies?” My ovaries clearly are speaking for my entire body, because my brain is all “dude, seriously?  SERIOUSLY?”

So, yeah.  Done.  And we’ve “taken measures” to ensure that there will never be another “hey babe, we need to talk…” talk.

A few years ago, during our fertility treatments, I determined that I needed a pair of lucky socks.  I HAD to have lucky socks.  I had no idea why, but I needed them.   And so, Shannon sent me a pair of socks, with treads on the bottom.  And you know, I forgot to wear them for our initial fresh transfer,  I think Dr. Douchebag made me wear these standard issue hospital socks, and wouldn’t let me wear my own.  And well, that failed miserably.   We hooked up with Dr. Pompy, who was completely fine with letting  me wear my lucky socks.  And you know what?  They worked.  And it was at that moment that I swore by the lucky socks.   I wore them through most of my pregnancy with the Mini.  I wore them in the delivery room.  They were so lucky, that I wore them during LG’s delivery as well.  I probably should have worn them and played the lottery, but you know, with two healthy kids, I didn’t want to be greedy.

Shannon’s socks were passed forward, and have now been sent back for the next recipient.  Somehow, in between moving cross country, buying a new house, dealing with the Mini’s delays, and then you know, getting knocked up again and having a baby, my head has been shoved far up my ass.  It occurred to me that there are a perfectly good pair of lucky socks just sitting in my drawer.   And they, along with the sock’s  socks’? just socks?) twin pair, should also be passed along.  Because there really can never be enough luck floating around.  And so, the people voted, and Lani was one of the winners, along with another fine lady, Melody.

After so many years of burying what we went through, just due to the emotional trauma, I’m happy to finally be giving back.  It’s time.  I’ll never be healed (see above re: jealousy), but we were so lucky to have two healthy kids and so many don’t even get a chance at one.  I hope that I can follow the socks on their journey, and that they bring as much luck to Lani and others in the future.


Ms. Pants January 14, 2010 at 5:37 pm

So yeah, my first thought was: “Dude, grandbabies!!!”

And then, I got a rush of guilt because I’m the baby-child and I’m not giving any grandbabies to anyone.

Unless grandkitties count, and I don’t think they really do. But if they do count, then I’ve given back in SPADES, dude.

Faith January 15, 2010 at 12:00 pm

Ok, the question of the apostrophe plaecement in socks is gonna drive me NUTS. I’m leaning toward the socks’ version, though…

This is a sweet plan, missy. For those people out there who actually wanna have behbehs, but aren’t able to do so very easily, giving them a good luck charm that you know has worked for you is a fucking AWESOME idea. Fab way to pay it forward, IMO.

Beth January 15, 2010 at 12:25 pm

That freaky book where the woman climbs up her son’s house on a ladder and picks him up when he’s grown is MY WORST NIGHTMARE. Every time I moan about how much I miss rocking Gunnar to sleep (he prefers to fall asleep by himself in his bed thankyouverymuch) my husband just says, “Grown. Man. Ladder. Window.” and I stop moaning.
Gunnar will be my only, my “enough” if you will. So I sort of miss him as a snuggly baby and not an active crawling all over me psychopath. So I want to snuggle as much as I can, and then that image comes back. *shudder*

Aunt Becky January 15, 2010 at 4:03 pm


Baby Factory. Doors closed. Mine too.


jen February 1, 2010 at 10:08 am

It took a long time for M to come along. And I desperately wanted another. I am very thankful now, given my situation, that I did not have baby #2 when we had talked about doing so. However, I am still very sad, and well, sort of empty over it. M is wonderful. But I really wanted another. And with 37 approaching this year, and the mess that is my marriage, well, it is not gonna happen.


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