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Meet the Meyers


a blog by joy and jim


This is not a complaint. Okay? Let’s just get that straight right now. But lately I’ve noticed that there’s really nowhere for the “Pregnant Infertile” (how’s that for an oxymoron?) to go. I have one foot in the door of potential parenthood and the other back in Clomidtown. Should I be happy or scared? The women who’ve never had trouble in the fertility department, are they terrified too? Just asking.

Around here, every single day is a trial. Half the time I’m either at the doctor’s office or waiting for test results by phone. I’m not feeling that great (like you care), which everyone tells me is supposed to be a really good sign! Yippee! I feel guilty complaining about my physical discomfort. This is what I‘ve been wanting for years! Conversely, I feel trepidation about getting too excited or invested in this pregnancy because of what’s happened before.

I guess it’s a good thing, my ability to relate to different people’s experiences. But being in limbo is not particularly comfortable. Truthfully, I want out of the infertile camp. I would imagine it’s everyone’s goal to graduate from this class. Each day that goes by, each day get’s me a little closer to that goal. Just in case any of you are in my position, I want to share some things that get me through:

    The Calendar
    I hate the idea of time passing me by, but in this case, it’s my biggest wish. If I could wake up and it would be next year and I’d be out of the woods and I’d have a baby, well—sign me up! It’s totally immature thinking, I know. Just cut me a little slack here as the past four years seem to have gone by at the speed of an inchworm trying to make his way up a really slippery tree. Anyway, nothing gives me greater pleasure than the opportunity to flip the date on this little time keeper each morning.

    Mount Tabor Park
    This park happens to be one of the prettiest city parks I’ve ever seen. It also happens to be 300 yards from my doorstep. I don’t know why, but just when I think I’m going to lose my mind, the last morsel of sanity in my head tells me to grab Willy and go to that park. That park is full of my tears and worries and Willy’s poop (I try to pick it up, honest!). There’s something about the tall trees and mole hills and piney trails that tells me everything is going to be okay. Cliché? Whatever. I love that place.

    Chewy Spree
    So I’ve been pretty nauseous lately. And I have metal mouth. And I have acute anxiety that is exemplified throughout this essay. This candy, oh sweet and tart candy! What can I say about you? You are pretty and smooth to the touch and you are tangy and you surprise me every time I bite into your…holy crap. Are you guys still here? Sorry, I just love this candy so much. So much that I spent $9 on one pound of them.



This particular piece is really difficult for me to write. Writing about our infertility experience and how we get through it on a day-to-day basis has been therapeutic for me. But well, our situation has changed; we are pregnant.

But as we try to move away from our hardships associated with trying to conceive, we isolate ourselves from the people with whom we so closely identified. I didn’t want to hear anything from pregnant people when I was wrestling with infertility. Advice in any form made me cringe. I don’t have advice to give, and I won’t try to offer any. I can’t complain anymore like I have in the past. There’s nothing worse than a complaining person expecting a baby. So I find myself once again, useless.

In a weird way, it feels like a betrayal to both myself and that group of which I was once a member. I don’t know how to leave our infertility identities behind because I don’t know how to live any other way. It’s pretty weird.

I guess I can simply observe and offer my point of view. Joy is the one, once again, with all the responsibility and pressure. She does not sleep, and she is not comfortable. I say she can have all the candy she wants as long as she eats a few blueberries at breakfast, and some greens at dinner. I continue to go to work in the morning and come home at night so that maybe I can manage to speed up the clock a little.

I’ve been feeling better lately. This is the goal. This is what we are all trying to achieve, right?

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