Crazy

I've never been a superstitious person until infertility struck. Then, I found myself starting to adopt weird behaviors that didn't make a lot of sense. This probably had to do with trying to control something I didn't have any control over, which I suspect is behind a lot of superstitious behavior in general. As the months went by and one year of trying turned into another, as we pursued expensive and heartbreaking treatments, I began thinking things like this: "I don't really want to donate to the police force ball this year, but wait -- I need to donate, because if I don't I won't be a worthy enough person to have children." Or this: "If I see two more rabbits on my run today, that means that this cycle worked and I am pregnant."

None of that ever worked, of course. That didn't stop me from doing it, even though as I did it I knew it didn't make any sense. If I could shut off the car before the song ended, that meant this cycle would work. If I could get out of the shower before the next station break on the radio, that meant the cycle worked. I did that stuff all the time, and the cycle never worked.

Until it did. Then my superstitious behavior continued. Infertile people don't get to be pregnant like other people. The fear of miscarriage or no heartbeat on the ultrasound is never far away. I spent a lot of time terrified that my babies had died, even though they were fine. Last year I got a holiday letter from a friend and I just couldn't bring myself to open it, because I had a feeling that it would contain a pregnancy announcement. I could not handle yet another pregnancy announcement from yet another friend while I was feeling sad at Christmas about what a crummy year I'd just had. So I told myself that I would open the letter once I was pregnant. But once I got pregnant, I still couldn't open the letter. I felt like it would jinx things, and if I opened the letter, everything might go to hell and I'd show up at the next ultrasound and they wouldn't be able to find any heartbeats. So I told myself, once I passed the first trimester, then I would open the letter. At that point, I still couldn't do it, so I told myself, once we have the 20-week ultrasound, then I'll open the letter. I still couldn't do it. I told myself, once the babies are born, and home safe with us, then I can open the letter. In the end I waited until this year's holiday letter arrived, and then I opened both together. Last year's letter did indeed contain a pregnancy announcement, and I'm finally in a place where I can be happy for them without feeling sad for myself.

Now that we have Nora and Milo, all of that infertility craziness should be behind me. I've been too busy trying to deal with taking care of two babies to indulge in weird superstitious fantasies anymore. Until the other day. The babies didn't sleep at all that day. One feeding just kept morphing into another and we could not get them to sleep. It was maddening. I don't know if it was the fact that we finally changed over to cloth diapers and they can't adjust to the bulky uncomfortable wetness, or if it's the new medication I'm taking to try to increase my milk supply, or if it's some weird alignment of the stars, but they weren't happy babies. At one point I was finishing up the dishes and I pulled out a new paper towel to line the basket we use to bring bottles up to the nursery. The paper towel tore and I thought, "I should get a new one that won't tear. If I line the basket with a pristine, non-torn paper towel, then this time the babies will go to sleep."

Oh wait. No they won't. BECAUSE THAT IS CRAZY.

I forced myself to use the torn paper towel.

(Above, Jake with Milo, who looks asleep, but oh, no, no, no.)