As The Dude and I are reaching the point whereby we are going to slowly start disseminating the news of Enid, I've been thinking about what to divulge and what to keep to ourselves.
Our parents know of both the IVF and the pregnancy, so no issues of disclosure there. It has recently come to my attention that though my in-laws can understand the statement, "Our fertility treatment is not something we want shared with anyone else unless we specify", my Mom has seemingly found my wish too vague. She has asked me a couple of times recently when she will be allowed to tell others of Enid, and when I give her an approximate stage of the pregnancy, I have specified that I do not want anyone to know the situation that brought this about. Both times she has feigned ignorance and said, "Oh, Aunt X already knows" or "Well...the church is my support, and I've asked many people to pray for you because of your troubles". Suddenly, what we thought was within the knowledge of a few select individuals has suddenly spread to a crazy relative rattling from copious doses of percocet and vicodin and a host of people who believe intelligent design is the new black. It's just what we always wanted.
Despite feeling angry at my lack of control of this situation, I've come to the conclusion that I'm more comfortable with the idea of mentioning my "troubles" (as my Mom would say) now that we may have been successful, than I ever was before. I have mentioned previously that next to no one was told of us wading through the mire of ART, and I very rarely felt the inclination to tell anyone about it. I wasn't ashamed, but rather I didn't want to cope with either pity, or others' righteous indignation. I didn't want people to constantly bombard me with questions as to how it was going, or put them in the situation that they would have to attempt to comfort me when it failed.
Now, I feel as if sharing it will set me apart from them. I want them to know that it didn't come easy, and that I'm still not "normal". It's a strange place to be, considering part of the reason I chose not to share previously was because I wanted to be perceived as normal for once. I didn't want to place myself outside the concept of all women as fertile, maternal beings. For as often as I felt like an outsider by keeping silent, it was my one opportunity to control the situation and at least project that I was just like them.
Don't worry, I won't contradict my personality and start telling everyone that I'm a hard ass because I did one round of IVF. I'm thinking small - just telling close friends, and perhaps I'll have a sit-down with the canary and tell him that Mommy and Daddy have had some difficulties, but that they still love him regardless.
Given my role of the carrier of Enid (Thalia--to answer your question in my last post, I have decided Enid is the one that stuck around because Bertrand was always slow and no fetus of mine is going to be the dumb one), I have recently been attempting to bond with children. Rather than relying on telepathy to communicate that I would like to kick them, I'm trying to be friendly. I must be trying hard, because I'm even making an effort to talk to my devil spawn niece, Damiana. That's a feminine take on the 666 theme people, catch up. Anyway, I'm even smiling at the little bugger now when I see her and damn it if my face doesn't hurt like hell.
All my good deeds may have been negated when I went for my first antenatal appointment last week though, as I glared at a little snot-nosed creature and he ran away. Quickly. I may have one of the things growing inside me, but that's my little potential snot-nosed creature, and by no means am I going to start liking all of them now. Months on end of hormone-altering medication? Fine. Regular snatch inspections? Bring 'em on. Embryo retrieval and transfer? Please. Start to like children because they're God's precious creatures? Fuck that.