In the last few months, I, chicklet, have wanted to "do it". And I don't say that like it's this monumental thing in our relationship, I just say it like it's a very different place to be, like it's a place I'm glad to finally be back to. Cuz there were points there, during the HEIGHT of infertility, where really, I wanted NOTHING to do with "doing it". There were points there where I think even the HUSBAND wanted nothing to do with "doing it".
Cuz the problem with infertility is that if you really want to beat the odds, there's these NUMBERS working against you, so the more cycles you actually try to HIT, well the more chances you'll have of actually GETTING what you want. And while it starts out as FUN, and it evolves into something DIRTY, eventually... it changes into something FORCED. It becomes just ONE MORE thing you have to do on your task list, ONE MORE thing you have to do whether you want to or not. And it's not like the sex can't still be fun - it totally can be - it's just that the STARTING isn't something you really care to do, because there's no mystery in it, there's no surprise in it, there's often not even a CHOICE in it.
Got a cold? Doesn't matter, lay down and do me. Had a shitty day at work? Doesn't matter, bend over and I'll do ya. Got a migraine? Don't care, it's "doing it" time. Got a migraine ON TOP of the flu, AND you feel like you might even throw up if we do it? Oh well, do it do it do it! And then get the hell away from me cuz I don't need YOU making ME sick too!
And so in the HEIGHT of infertility, there were of course FIGHTS over sex. We fought over whether or not that day would REALLY matter if we skipped it, we fought over feeling like one of us had initiated MORE than the other recently, we fought over rushing THROUGH things as one of us was truly more interested in just getting to SLEEP. But the BEST fight we ever had over sex, was The Big Cheese Fight of 2006.
It was one of those usual nights where it was time to "go", and of course "go" time very very VERY much mattered to me at that point. In my CRAZY mind, if we didn't "go", we wouldn't have a kid, and if we didn't have a kid, it'd be ALL HIS FAULT. And it'd be ALL HIS FAULT because *I*, as the good infertile, knew exactly when we needed to do what, *I* tracked exactly when all the "elements" were falling into place, and *I* was the all-knowing SOURCE of what was going to get us that damn kid.
So that PARTICULAR night, when he was a little slow to take me up on my offer, I proceeded to immediately REMIND him of all the blame he'd shoulder was he not INTERESTED in my offer. I proceeded to immediately TELL him about all the "elements" that were in place on that very day. And I think I even went so far as to EXPLAIN to him how this whole BABY-MAKING thing worked, and highlight that he was a KEY participant in said BABY-MAKING!!!
All of which, uh... went over like a lead balloon. So in retaliation, he got out of bed, went to the kitchen, and started MAKING something... while I laid there and got madder and MADDER and MADDDDDDDDERRRRRRR. And what did he return with? Oh, a cutting board, a stack of cheese slices, and a knife for him to cut MORE cheese slices, should he want to EAT MORE CHEESE. And what did he DO with all those pieces blocking me from our mission? He leaned back in bed, stacked it on his chest, and began happily eating his cheese - switching between SMIRKING at me, and eating his damn cheese. And that smirking and eating? It was THE slowest cheese-eating-and-smirking I have EVER experienced EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
So I of course, yelled. Cuz you know, yelling really helps get your partner in the mood right? I yelled about what a JACKASS he was, I yelled about how he didn't really WANT kids with me, and I think I even yelled about how him and his freakin' CHEESE were DESTROYING OUR CHANCES, cuz what if THIS month, what if it was THE one!?!?!
He? He just kept eating his freakin' cheese. And smirking all the while eating it. And while he still claims to this VERY day that he was just "hungry", I believed then, and I still believe now, that he was taking a stand against the craziness that had taken over his wife, and blocking my damn advances with that stupid freakin' CHEESE.
Now I don't normally do this, but I'd SOOO love it if YOU commented or posted about YOUR favorite infertility fight.
Friday, 26 December, 2008
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17 comments:
I already wrote about mine in Exhale. The spooge emission fight was the probably the most ridiculous one we ever had.
oh gosh, I don't think I could even choose let alone write about it...
but I love that YOU can!
Oh, wow. Gives the saying "For the love of cheese" a whole new meaning, doesn't it? :)
Let's see...I don't have any IF fights that I can look back on now and see humor in. They all sucked and resulted in me crying. However, I can totally relate to the monotony of all the BMS (there's an acronym I haven't used in a while - baby making sex. Frank and I got to the point where it was like a game. We'd literally time how long it took him to "get there." We'd make bets with each other - "I bet you a dollar you can't finish before this commercial break is over." Good times, man.
Oh - there was an infertility fight I got into with my sister, though. At the height of my IF, my kid sister got knocked up at 17. Yeah - oops.
Frank and I were still living with my mom and sisters just cuz we could, so I had the pleasure of viewing her pregnancy grow day-by-day.
Usually when Frank and I bought groceries it was for the house in general, but occasionally I'd buy something that was deemed just for me. I had the package of seasoned chicken breasts in the fridge that I had planned on making for dinner for myself one day.
I got home after a long, hard day at work and saw my sister, hugely pregnant at 7 months, just starting to eat all THREE of those damned chicken breasts. Here's how it went down:
Me: Those were my chicken breasts. You knew they were mine. Why would you just take them like that?
Her: Because I was hungry.
Me: *sigh* Well, you don't need all three of them. Can I at least have ONE of MY chicken breasts?
Her: (in a smack-my-bitch-up-prim-and-pompous tone) But I need my protein for my baby.
Me: completely dumbfounded, but I thought "I could just reach out and smack the piss out of you."
Then I stormed off to my room where I threw some shit around and cursed her name.
I seethed fire that day (and for the next few), but nowadays it's something we all laugh about. But I still wish I could retroactively slap her around a bit for that one.
Yeah, I'm still waiting to get back into the "want" of sex. Poor hubby is suffering.
There have been many tears shed on my pillow when HE was the one NOT in the mood...not that I was in the mood, but I knew that we HAD to have sex THAT NIGHT. HE, on the other hand, always had a headache, or was too tired, not in a good mood, stressed, or it was too late and "why didn't I bring up the fact I wanted to do this a few hrs ago?" Ugh, I'm glad those conversations are over for now. But, I'd really like the enjoyment of it all to return asap.
I can't remember my favorite/best fight... but I enjoyed reading of yours!
Oh I can so relate. I don't think we have really ever really "fought" about "it", we have had some "disagreements" but I do remember last March we were doing injections and I had done my trigger shot and 12 hours I got the gift of kidney stones. If you have ever had kidney stones you know that they are the worst pain you could ever have. They say it is right in line with labor. All I know is I wanted to die but I was not about to give up on that cycle. So we "did it" in the midst of my agony. He did not want to because I was in so much pain but I said I didn't care we were "doing it" and that was that. Oh man it was bad and the sad thing is it did not even work. Gotta love IF.
Ours centered around his playing World of Warcraft until 3AM when he should have been servicing me.
I would say IF ruined our you-know-what life. Now that we have a child, and it is not physically feasible for me to even attempt another pregnancy now, Ms. Stella is starting to get her groove back...It makes things so much easier when there isn't all the pressure behind it, of "if we miss this small window of opportunity I will be devastated and cry for the next 30 days".
heh. Okay, so not funny for you, but I can just imagine the smirking. hehe. That's fucking awesome.
Okay, let me see. I had 39 cycles of ttc. 36 of those ending in BFNs. So 3 years of them. Of course since 3 weren't BFNs, they weren't all consecutive, but there wasn't any TAB cycles during the string of BFNs leading to the big ones.
Hrm. Biggest infertility fight.
I don't actually have one. Our marriage simply suffered from it, but there were no fights about it. Although tom and i rarely fight. We get pissed at eachother a lot and all that, we're not ozzie and harriet by any means. We just dont' fight. Let me rephrase that - HE doesn't fight. I love to fight. He bottles. He bottles it good.
I remember he used to smoke a lot of pot while ttc #1. And EVERY time he indulged, I would think to myself "he's smoking away our children" and after the 12 month mark he went in for his S/A and FINALLY I was going to be able to blow up about it. I FINALLY was able to fight about how it was all his fault. And then the results came in and they were stellar. My sail lost wind for sure. All I could mutter was "think of how much more awesome your sperm would be". Yeah, not much of a fight at all.
My favourite infertility fight? Oh, there were so many back in the day we actually thought 'doing it' would get us somewhere..... after a year of 'trying' the 'doing it' became forced, scheduled.... desperate.
The story starts out the same as yours, I was the good infertile, telling him we needed to do it... he told me he didn't feel like it so of course I soput off all of the reasons that particular night was so CRUTIAL... (oh how little did I know).
Well, he was not budging. Was not going to happen. Nope. Nada. And of course, I get pissed off, which (as you said) must have put him more in the mood, right? Nope. He gets more stubborn, I get more pissed off.
So, I resort to the one thing I know works. Be warned.
My ass.
G is an ass man. Doesn't matter what mood he's in. Whip of the pants and shimmy my but up against him while in bed.... works like a charm every time. Without fail.
Definately not as funny as your cheese story though. It's still nice to know that my ass has so much power over him!
Our biggest fights were always about him not remembering to keep out of hot tubs, or to stop riding his bike for three months, or that he would forget to take his vitamins...
It just made me into the nagging wife, and I hated him for forcing me into that role. Didn't he care enough to do remember this on his own?
In the end, we had to do ICSI, and the embryologist basically said it didn't matter what he did, she only needed seven good ones and she could find them in there somewhere... I think the ICSI was $2300, which would have been a bargain (when amortized over the years) to avoid stupid fights about his testicles... I wish we had known we would have to do it in the first place!
I laughed and cried as I read your post. I totally related...
Our biggest IF fight? Well, by doing the OPK monitor, I saw PEAK. Meant that we had 24-48 hours to "do it." He just didn't seem to be in teh mood. So I snuck out of the room and changed into.. costume. It's one of those Halloween costumes, but I thought it might add something into our forced deed. I had been avoiding him around every corner so that I might surprise him. I finally cornered him in the kitchen and he said he was going to bed. He didn't even look up at me!! Getting po'd, I hissed, "Why don't you look at me?" He did. The look on his face was almost of disgust. Not at my custome, but at the fact that once he made up his mind that he wanted to go to bed that he REALLY didn't want to be in the mood. So here I am, standing in the middle of my kitchen - looking stupid and feeling even worse, I stormed off to bed. I promptly put on my sweats (the ones he hated) because I wasn't going to put any more effort into it. Now that we've moved on into the greater world of IUIs, I've been trying to let "doing it" be a bit more spontaneous.
Probably the worst fight we had was months after our final attempt at IVF. Hubby was complaining about my weight and told me that maybe if I hadn't let myself go, we would have had more sex and I might have gotten pregnant. Yep. Nice, huh? I think I was angry for months after that.
Last year my lap was schedule for Feb 12. On the 11th they were calling for a major snow event (read blizzard for the next day). DH wanted me to cancel and reschedule. Sure enough it was a white out.
I told him that I would NEVER forgive him if we didn't have the surgery THAT day because I would NEVER be able to have it again. That it would be HIS FAULT if we didn't make it...blah blah blah.
Did I mention that the hospital was an hour away? That the trip took 2 hours and that we were driving 35 miles an hour the whole way on HIGHWAY?
In retrospect I should have cancelled the surgery-it wasn't life threatening, I wasn't getting a new heart or kidneys but at the time it was the most important thing I ever would have done.
Karma bit me in the ass though for I did get pregnant immediately after only to miscarry...but as they say hindsite is 20/20...
Your post is a great one...I laughed and cringed while imagining what I would do if Mr. Speedbump even attempted the "cheese trick".
We've had so many fights I could never pick the best. Actually I'm quite ashamed about most of them, because I've been very cruel - I lash out with words and have said horrible things. It makes me feel SO bad afterwards that it just chips away at my self confidence even more. The negative talk in my head gets louder, because now not only am I an infertile, I'm a bitchy, spiteful and hurtful wife.
My hope is that we'll be able to look back at the screaming and throwing things one day and laugh??
Our biggest infertility fight? I am surprised I am still married to my husband, let alone still trying to procreate with him.
OK, I will preface it by saying that Clomid is the drug of the devil. And I become a stark raving lunatic while it is in my system. I cry and cry and cry and cry and then cry some more. For no reason, just because, well, it feels like the right thing to do. I would cry over anything and everything.
There was one night, the night before an IUI, and I was once again, crying over something stupid. Probably because my sock twisted around on my foot. Because while on the drug of the devil, I would cry over anything.
While I was in one of my ridiculous crying fits, my wonderful husband looked at me and said something to this effect: If you can't handle the stress of an IUI cycle, what makes you think you are ready to be a parent. He then had the audacity to suggest we put things on hold until I was emotionally ready to do this.
He slept down the hall that night. It was a damn good thing it was an IUI, because if we had to have sex, it wasn't going to happen. He was in the dog house for quite some time after that.
He learned to quit making any remarks when I was on anykind of fertility drug. He learned to just hold me when I cried because my toothpaste shot out of the tube too quickly and offered a tissue to wipe my snotty nose.
We now have an understanding. When I am on fertility drugs, he is best to just keep his mouth shut and keep his opinions to himself. It works.
If only I could get him to keep his mouth shut the rest of the time . . .
Sorry to come to the party late, but I had to get my worst IF fight off my chest as it has been eating at me for a while.
About 2 years into the process (recently) we were, yet again, faced with must-do-it-now-or-we-won't-ever-be-parents-itis. There may have been wine involved (one way we use to distance ourselves from the process and try and make it 'fun'). One of the other problems we were dealing with that was that when faced with this amount of pressure, certain vital functions ceased to be guaranteed. Actually, this has become a real problem recently.
This time, I'm not sure what happened, but I think that the combination of wine, exact time of the month, and stress of the last 2 years caught up with me, and the frustration became too much. At the point that I had decided (maybe prematurely) that, yet again, this wasn't going to work, I snapped and lashed out. Literally. I left bruises.
I am not proud of this, and the damage was definitely superficial, but it really, really shook me. None of it was really directed towards my husband. It was about the situation, and how helpless I felt, but by god, it made me feel like crap.
I wish it had just manifested itself in the form of cheese....
You'll be seeing a lot more of me, Chicklet, cause I finally got my lazy shit together and added you to my reader. I had to comment on this cause it is too funny - the cheese eating as stalling tactic is brilliant. I don't really have a favorite fight as Manny does not fight. I don't really either, but there have been times that I would have picked a fight with him if I didn't know it would wound him forever and make me feel horribly guilty. I did yell at him once, which is about as close to a fight as we've ever come. Lame, I know.
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