I can’t wait to get to the studio! I’m almost there, tomorrow! I can feel myself standing in front of a piece of blank paper, mixed up some paint, paint brush and a drawing tool in my hands, music on, hours ahead of me, an infinity of space for creativity. Free to begin a new series of work for a show next year, a gallery space, a book. Nothing is standing in my way. I need patience and a new attitude for the days in between my work days. It’s hard, with the smell of stinky, fish, pots and pans staring at me, a dishwasher full of clean dishes and a sink full of dirty dishes, walls with drawing on them, toys scattered all over the floor. I can not pick up and clean everything all the time. What did I do before kids? What was my home like? How clean was it then when I thought it was dirty? Was it always clean, picked up? Was that stress I did not have? As Jack and Fiona get older, now almost four years old, the messes appear faster, it’s like Jack and Fiona need to live in chaos. Furniture that we’ve had for nine years, was in great condition, now in tatters. Chairs turned over, turned into forts. Cabinet doors broken, floors and doors warped from water damage in the bathroom when they played in the sinks with the stoppers in, they were supposed to be taking their naps. Dark mornings I am woke, “Mommy, my bed it wet”. I just want a few more minutes to lay under warm blankets. Did I ever think of any of this when I was going through infertility treatments? I thought I could keep my home organized when I had kids, I thought I could keep it clean. What I went through to have kids, the difficulty in raising kids, the way it takes over your whole existence, except those magical moments in my studio, is it worth it? Is it worth it for the sweet moments of pure joy, living life through a child’s eyes, learning about relationships and love like I never have before. Holding their sweet little hands, kissing them goodnight. Learning things about myself I could have never learned without becoming a mother. It is all worth it, to me. The house is here to be used, to be lived in. It’s not a museum. It doesn’t matter, it just stinks sometimes, like last nights fish dinner.
Tag: infertility
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Something has shifted; it’s all coming back to me now. Memories of the past flash in my mind, as I sit in the two week waiting period to find out if my surrogate Malissa is pregnant with one or both of the embryos that were transferred into her uterus last Friday. I am anxious, nervous, fearful, and hopeful of the results. It’s been a long journey to this place, five years of my body being poked and prodded, and three surrogates just to create a family of our own. That was written last July. I’m sitting at my kitchen table drinking my coffee while Jack and Fiona play with toys in the living room. Now I am raising children. I am a mother. I look back through the writing I did about my struggles with infertility. I was going to post one today. But I wasn’t ready, the works not ready. I need to revisit the experience. The years of trying, the fear, “Is my husband going to leave me because I can’t have a baby.” After every failed cycle, after the miscarriage, having to make the decision to try again or give up. Excruciating, mind bending, insomnia producing contemplations. Joining a meditation class at Kaiser and starting to see a therapist, then finding myself sitting on my meditation cushion wondering who I was. Actually scared, my mind unsure of anything. A facial twitch that turned me into a cyberchondriac, finding out all the diseases I could possibly have. Writing to my doctors every day to tell them my symptoms. I saw a neurologist and had an MRI. I just took a break from writing to change Fiona’s poopy diaper and play “I’m gonna get you” with Jack. I tiptoe over the cheerios, toast, and banana on the floor to get back to my computer. How life has changed. Those years of trying were very isolating. Some of the women in my life didn’t understand because they got pregnant easily, they already had children. Some of my friends said I shouldn’t keep trying, I shouldn’t have kids at all. I was embarrassed. I was ashamed and rarely told anyone what I was going through. I wanted to reach out to other women going through the same thing but couldn’t find them. I want to reach out to them now and offer some kind of comfort. But that’s not helpful, it’s not helpful to tell someone “Everything’s going to be O.K.” or “It will all work out for the best.” Or the worst, “It’s in God’s hands.” I can only tell my story. It wasn’t easy and I barely made it through the whole experience. It did turn out fine, I have two beautiful babies now, but that’s another thing someone going through infertility doesn’t want to hear about.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 