Chanukah 5770/2009 - Jewish Infertility

SHAAREI TIKVAH/ CHANUKAH 2009
55
The wonder in my little ones' eyes will continue
to fill my spirit
minefield herself for over five years before having her first,
deserves her second. For them I can be warm and excited
(most of the time).
I can even handle a few of those regular-folk pregnancies.
Right now, though, they have me surrounded. Up the
hill and to the right, two babies are on their way in a matter
of months. Up the hill in the opposite direction another
one's brewing. Down the hill just announced it over Shabbos,
and one block away is due in six weeks. It's a good
thing there's a parking lot behind our apartment building,
or they would truly have me on all sides.
In my classroom the outside world disappears. We rush
from snack serving to potty training to coat zipping--
thanking God for the "yummy crackers" with a bracha
[blessing], congratulating a little one on her first success on
the toilet, giving a hug along with the coat. I am a conflict
resolution expert, cuddler, nurse, waitress, and actress. My
day is a whirlwind of caretaking and loving, wonderfully distracting.
Their toddlerhood in my classroom is a safe distance
from the babyhood I long for in my home.
My work life and my home life feel like such opposites.
Teaching brings forth potential. Infertility is potential
thwarted. It's a flower trying to sprout with a rock on top
of it, a bunch of ingredients trying to will themselves into
a cake. The classroom has hope and growth and change
moment by moment. My life feels stuck. Hope is scary because
disappointment hurts too much. But lack of hope
hurts more. Seeing babies or moms-to-be smacks me with
the reality of still broken dreams.
During the first year or two of trying, other people’s joy
didn't hurt very much. Maybe because I wasn't yet so obviously
an object of pity. Now there's no doubt. I see people
adjust their balance as our conversation unfolds.
"Do you have children?" they innocently ask.
"No, not yet," I respond as nonchalantly as possible.
"How long are you married?"
"Three years," I answer, mustering up even more nonchalance.
Then it happens. The slight moment of computation of
years and emotions. I'm convinced I know their thoughts.
The dramatic "Oh," followed by "There must be a problem."
Yet the response comes almost immediately: "Everything
in the right time," or "God should bless you soon," or
other plastic sounding responses.
I don't want to feel like I'm hearing fingernails on a
blackboard whenever I hear a woman is expecting a baby.
I don't blame them. In their shoes, my reaction would
be identical. Yet since I repeatedly view the same scene, the
tone is different. It's like watching and re-watching the same
scene of a movie, or when you try to spell a word like "from"
and all of a sudden it looks weird. If you saw the scene once,
or spelled the word without thinking about it, all seems
normal. I want normal back. I don't want people to have
to contemplate a response when hearing about my life. I
don't want my reproduction to involve a doctor's office.
And I don't want to feel like I'm hearing fingernails on a
blackboard whenever I hear a woman is expecting a baby.
I want to cry and cry and crawl into God and be comforted.
I want to throw the pain into my prayers and beg
God to have mercy on us -- to bless us with a child when
He knows the time is right.
And until then, I'll keep kissing heads of fluffy curls, and
teaching tiny neshamos [souls] to be kind and listen and
hug. I'll help make towers from primary-colored plastic
blocks, and shape challah from bright orange play-dough
on Friday mornings. The wonder in my little ones' eyes will
continue to fill my spirit. Pregnancy announcements and
double strollers will still jar my insides. But until that time
comes when God kisses our dreams and sends them to us
in a tiny bundle, I will continue to love my borrowed neshamos,
rehearsing the role of full-time guide and cuddler.
Practicing -- and praying -- to be called Mommy.
Editor's note: After this article was published in 2005,
the author has been blessed with a son.